


Acquainted

by EmpireforAshes



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Experimentation, Human/Monster Romance, Loss of Control, Medical Examination, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Other, POV Original Female Character, Porn with Feelings, Slice of Life, Trauma Bonding, Vaginal Fingering, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2020-06-01 03:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpireforAshes/pseuds/EmpireforAshes
Summary: Dr. Swan is a scientist assigned to interview SCP-049,a seemingly harmless task,but what transpires is anything, but harmless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Simply Bodies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157364) by [DunmerLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunmerLover/pseuds/DunmerLover). 



> In a world that centers on (S)ecuring, (C)ontaining and (P)rotecting,  
> what better than a little sex, sex, sex (and don't forget the violence).
> 
> We all know it happens.
> 
> Perhaps it is good to unleash a little.  
> There is no harm, when we realize that harm is the death of an old self.  
> You'll feel a little..odd, but you'll wake up tomorrow and realize,  
> this was you all along.
> 
> Special thanks to DunmerLover, for starting this fire. 
> 
> If they can write some smut so hot it makes liquid of the asphalt, maybe I've got a shadow of a chance. 
> 
> This is not a fire drill.

DESSA & DARK, EMPLOYEE INFORMATION TERMINAL #23

USERID: AK-47890086  
PASSWORD: REDHANDEDJILL

..PASSWORD CORRECT, WELCOME BACK DR SWAN.

How little we knew, how minuscule the speculation we could give into the lives of the past others. I tapped my fingers on the cheap, particle board desk that had been abused. It had been soaked from condensation, it had been rubbed by books and my keyboard, by countless searches on subjects I couldn’t recall. 

I could research all I liked, but I would never know first-hand any experience I would ever write. And I felt, frustrated at the thought of it all. That despite all my longing, I would always just be an empty replicator. I could create bodies, but no heart or soul would ever inhabit them. I knew all too well the madness that Victor Frankenstein tried to chase away. 

So I sat, despondent, my face colored by the pale and sickly glow of the monitor. Maybe it was my brain’s way of telling me to call it a night. I stood up, despondently. I was tired, exhausted actually. Fighting off a strange headache behind my eyes and at the back of my head. I chocked it up to the day-to-day stresses or the overdose of caffeine from the six day stretch I had taken on.

There were others like me, shrouded in white, identified only by the little piece of plastic clipped to a lanyard around their neck. I saw all colors of flesh, all shapes and sizes. But it was like, any large project. No one hand could build the entirety, so we were forced together by the pieces we were capable of constructing. Sometimes we overlapped, or answered to a superior, but that was it. Otherwise it was follow the task given, and report your results.

MESSAGE WAITING. PROCEED TO INBOX: Y/N?  
.. YES

Mine was microbiology. I had preferred a field job, something along the lines of botany, but I had settled for this government project. Recommended actually, but this job was.. Something else. Money was no object, that was a huge selling point, but this place was a meat-grinder. Tired eyes, sad eyes, sunken and sullen eyes. Not just from my colleagues.

This place was always short-handed. People seemed to come and go quicker than I could account for, but such was the nature of dangerous and privately funded government work. You didn’t take the time or effort to get to emotionally invested. Keep it professional and keep your eyes forward. Of course, I think I was a bit quicker than most, hungrier. I kept my peripherals keen, and I kept my observations catalogued intricately. Avoid the D-Level males in orange jumpsuits, and do not count on anyone wearing kevlar to save you. 

If you’re taken, no one is coming. Sadly, as a woman, this was pretty standard fair.

I went back to the screen. I just had this message to read, then I could leave, go home, and crawl into bed.

[NAME REDACTED]  
SCP-049 TO BE INTERVIEWED TOMORROW 0800.  
THANK YOU,  
U.M. 

Upper Management apparently did not understand it was well past midnight and 0800 was just around the corner. Without moving my head, I let my eyes wander to the camera eye that was pointed straight at me. Upper Management knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. I wanted to take a swig of the cold coffee to take the edge off, but the icy swill was gone. Just grounds swirled and dried to the bottom of the cup. I took in a deep breath, and let it out. I felt the tension all over me. I was about three days behind on sleep. I tried to tell myself, this overtime was worth it, but what was all of this for, if I just drive myself to death getting it? 

I logged out, and threw my empty mug in the sink near the door. I swiped the card to get me into the hallway. I walked down, the white walls and the white flooring lit sickly with the lights that were hidden in the ceiling. I needed to go through the main gate to get to the wing that held the SPC I needed for tomorrow. 

Before I left, I always made a quick round down the hallway I would start off in tomorrow morning. I kept my bearings about me, and prepared an escape if a containment breach ever occurred. I would have the standard escort of three armed security personnel, plus whoever was assigned with me, but it did little to give me a sense of ease.

Each containment cell was kept in its own way, and although most were marked as ‘safe’, you could not trust anyone without their constant wits about them. And I was one such person tonight. 

I walked past a locked plexiglass case holding an old brass key. Past a door that lead to a room that would have put most medical facilities on planet earth to shame. A huge door with blasting waves of heat emanating from its proximity. I was too tired for any of it to pique my interest. Most of it required clearance beyond my level anyhow. I could, wander somewhat with my level of clearance, but I couldn’t unlock anywhere that was of any real trouble or interest. 

With each step, my head began to pound harder and harder. 

I reached the middle of the hallway and stopped for a moment, just a second to take another deep breath, but what I did not count on was the fact I had reached my destination. I felt, something odd. Looking over toward what I thought it was, I nearly screamed.

SCP-049 was standing damn near up against the window in his door. We locked eyes for a moment, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. They were a striking blue, but they looked angry. I turned away, even though I felt the heat of a blush cross my face. Child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“Your blood pressure is unusually high.” That voice was muffled, but unmistakably male. My core tightened, and I felt that warmth flush over my entire face and chest, flood down every vein and artery, all the way down to my fingers and toes. Was I embarrassed at being caught off-guard?

I turned on my heel away from the door. I had to give myself a few seconds to process the sound of the voice. It was muted by the thick steel, but I could hear the heavy and deep quality, the flat affect of a single-minded psychology. What the fuck was going on with me?

There were many things that flashed through my mind, when I locked eyes with this..presence. It was not a face, if there was a face it was being a white mask. A mask with a long beak and a furrowed brow, giving you the distinct impression of annoyance or distaste. Those deeply set eyes. It should have been comical, theatrical even, but the intensity of the eyes and the detail in the expression portrayed only severity. 

I felt my muscles tighten, my breathing quicken, vision blur. I did not expect my mind to send me vivid images of being dissected and fucked simultaneously. I felt leather against the inside of my thighs, peeling my clothes off of me. A gloved hand pressing into my clavicle, following the curves of my naked body, palpating as it went. A weight and strength I couldn’t comprehend holding me in place while I was fucked viciously, like an animal. I wanted to look away, but those eyes were intense and I knew if I broke eye contact it would be tantamount to admitting out loud what my mind was showing me. I had to turn back, to look.

I knew not to back down when a dangerous animal showed itself to you. When you saw those eyes, you looked back and you prove that you were not intimidated by the display.

It was quiet, in the hallway, even the buzzing of the lights drowned out. Finally I jumped back as the eyes disappeared into the darkness.

“You need rest. Your body is dreaming while you are awake.” The voice came back to me, a whisper in my ear. I wanted to step closer, but there was a proximity marking around the cell, and I was tired, too tired to be as careful as I needed to be. I did not, expect that level of sentience. I hadn’t expected words. Interviews often meant, observations, or talking to other doctors. Not actual, SCPs.

“Excuse me,” I started, wanting to move closer. I skimmed the information I could after grabbing the dossier, and saw immediately he was a threat via physical contact. Lethal. “How did you know my blood pressure?” I tried to peer into the cell, but most of it was dark. As well it should have been. Even underground, it was inhumane to have the lights on all the time. Small favors, I supposed.

“I am a Doctor, like you.” The voice came again, and I felt a shiver move through me. It was dark, but clearer. It was also a fair indicator of this thing’s size. Big. “Your chest is flushed and I observed you massaging your neck.” The answer was flat again, but concise. I looked down at my unbuttoned shirt and indeed, it was flushed. I tried to write off this unusual reaction to the spike in my blood pressure.

“Doctor then. Thank you..?" I replied wanting a name. It felt rude to call him by a number, but there was no reply. I was about to leave, but he stepped back into view.

“Just Doctor.” The tone sounded like a warning. Keep it professional. Perhaps he was trying to keep his bearings as well. Who knew how he had been treated. Sentience is not always a good thing.

“I, I have to interview you tomorrow morning.” I don’t know why I blurted it out, but I think I wanted more interaction. “You don’t want to hurt me, do you?” I pulled back, after this blatant show of vulnerability. I didn’t even know why I asked that. I was damn tired. Maybe I was fed up with this cat-and-mouse bullshit I had to deal with day in and day out. Gambit played.

Heavy thuds fell, and his entire visage stood in the light spilling in from the window in the containment cell door. I saw him from head to toe. His arms folded behind his back. All black, boots, gloves, hood. The only part of him that wasn’t black were his mask and eyes. Those piercing blue eyes and stark white of the mask a grabbing contrast from the rest of him. His hood was over his face, obscuring the mask, but those eyes were locked on.

“You are blessedly free of the disease.” Was his answer. I waited for an elaboration, but there was none.

“Well, knowing this place I can’t make any promises..” My own voice felt weak and small. No reply, just his eyes on mine. 

Man, that gaze was heavy. And I was feeling it. “..but if it is any consolation, I don’t want to hurt you.” I waited, on a reply, on anything, but nothing. I gave a smile and bowed out of the line of vision of the cell.

“Tomorrow then.” The voice said, before disappearing into the silent darkness again. I checked my watch as I began back down the second half of the hallway. 2348\. I massaged my temples as I walked, digesting what had just happened. I opened my eyes just in time to come to a quick halt.

Steel-toed boots blocked my path as I headed toward the keycard access exit. In front of me stood 250 lbs of muscle, covered in black, including the kevlar vest and dual automatics in holsters against his obliques. 

The expression was standing sentry to my exit, all scowl, but my access clearance as a scientist gave me a small amount of seniority over him. I had to finesse this interaction, which was not my strong suit. I kept to myself because I tended to lack the softer touch men preferred in women. I was forthcoming, not meek or demure in the face of any man.

“What were you doing with 049?” Those teeth never parted as his lips moved, making the sounds of the words. If I had known any better this brick shithouse was probably something like special forces, a highly trained, specialized killer. I had to be extra careful, or I would get shoved into a containment cell just because his mood permitted.

“Nothing. Please excuse me now.” I said as I attempted to move past him, but he remained firmly in place. I exhaled heavily, “Look, I don’t want to pull rank on you, I just want to go home and sleep.” I admitted, letting my shoulders sag. I was in no mood to have a pissing match with some machismo ego attached to heavy machinery. Security here was strict and these dudes were basically fleshy tanks with niche maim-and-destroy skills. They had to be.

“I know you keep track of yourself. I’ve watched you do it on the CCTV. I haven’t seen you interact with one like that before. Why 049?” His voice was lower now, but still aggressive. Turns out my plea to just go home had no effect on his testosterone-addled brain. I had two choices here, pull rank and wound his ego because I was easily a third his size, or give in and show him I’m his to bend beneath his tantrum. I was in no mood, I had tried tact, but he was asking to be kneed in the balls, psychologically.

“Move, or I get on the nearest terminal and report you for insubordination.” It was my turn to cross my arms, narrow my eyes, and use my reserves of energy to show my displeasure. “Everything is recorded here.” I gestured to the camera fixated at both of us, taunting him with the creepy, and unnecessary, observation he’d made earlier. He moved out of my way, but as we crossed he spoke toward me,

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Swan.” 

I wanted to narrow my eyes, stick my tongue out, to show him I was not threatened by him, but I had just worked a twelve hour shift and been stared down by the subject I would be interviewing in the morning. And while brick shithouse was intimidating, he was predictable in a manner. Men are easy to figure out, but what I had to do in the morning was more than what I felt I was equipped to deal with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Interview.

The coffee in my hand was still steaming. I walked into the room. 049 was not restrained, he was moving about his containment cell unimpeded. There was a cadaver on the table, opened, viscera laid out. The smell was unpleasant, even outside, but I shoved my coffee in my face and took a deep breath. 

I had swung by my terminal and grabbed the download that was waiting for me in my inbox. 

HYPERION HALLWAY TERMINAL 09  
TIME 0758AM  
USERID: AK-47890086

CONDUCT INTERVIEW.  
CELL GUARDS PRESENT (2), ACCOMPANYING GUARD (AGENT G).  
FOLLOW PROTOCOL. REPORT. 

Rolling my eyes at the idea of that kevlar-vested clown waiting for me made me feel sick, but I had a job to do. Just this interview and then I could go home. I checked out a tablet, making sure the pen was with it, since they have a tendency to walk off. I headed toward the hallway, except as I exited my lab, there were three hardbodies waiting for me, including Agent G. His eyes were shielded behind his glasses, and the cell guards had helmets on. One was holding silver shackles, the other a huge collar. I tried not to get nervous at the sight of the restraints, or the fact they were holding them, but instinct told me ‘danger’ and I listened.

HYPERION HALLWAY TABLET 867  
STATUS: ACTIVE  
USERID: AK-47890086  
INITIATE INTERVIEW PHASE? Y/N?

There were no other scientists, just me, and the three assigned to security detail. Low level observation then, which generally meant it would be an easy job. I walked up to the door. I flipped through the pages, pretty standard, but there were explicit instructions for the interview to be done in person, which meant I would have to go in to the containment cell. 

The last bit said, “Under NO circumstance is there to be any PHYSICAL CONTACT. Physical contact is LETHAL.” I took in a deep breath, and a soft sip of coffee. Agent G chuckled and I turned to him, making eye contact.

“Do not shake his hand, Agent G.” I quipped, angrily. I didn’t like the fact that one of my guards now had a power tiff with me. At least he wasn’t in charge of the restraints. He didn’t respond, so I walked toward the door.

INITIATE INTERVIEW PHASE  
..YES

“Hello SCP-049.” I approached, and waited while he poked around inside what was the remains of a dead female. Her skin was pallid, blueish, flesh bloated and decayed in red patches. Her ribcage crudely broken open. There were bits of coagulated blood and strings of musculature strewn about. “My Name is Dr. Swan. I’m here to conduct an interview, if it’s not too much trouble.” I watched, as the figure cloaked entirely in black, stood to his full height in the containment cell. 

He eclipsed the viscera on the table, which was a momentary respite. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable, I'd handled flesh-eating bacteria, but I was not used to such a display of gore done so openly to a person. 

I couldn't afford to make this personal on any level. I had to be professional. Think Hannibal Lector. Be polite. Don't provoke him.

Even hunched he had a presence. His size alone was enough to make you feel crowded in the open cell. I should have been intimidated, but I felt oddly at ease. I saw another doctor, as crude and as foreign, I saw someone searching for an answer. I understood that. I fixated on that. Common ground, make him a peer. Not a terrifying, huge monster we knew could kill with a touch. Don’t vilify.

“Ah yes, Dr. Swan. Yes, as long as you assist me on this you may ask your questions.” His arms went behind his back, as he spoke, moving toward the door. I saw his boots, I heard their thud as his weight hit the floor. The worst part was, that thud of his movement wasn't terrifying, it was a mixture of thrilling and intoxicating. He was lethal, but here I was about to ask him what I thought. He was in inviting me in. Having me assist him. I could have laughed were it not for the shock of the entire situation. 

“Well Doc?” G’s voice resonated in my head as I stood there trying to process through my emotions quickly. I didn’t respond to him, I just moved toward the door with G’s verbal nudge.

“Assist?” I choked on my own words. I was not prepared. “I haven’t, I mean, I..”

“I have important work to be done. I cannot stop because you wish information from me.” He began to turn back to the cadaver, reaching into his jacket to pull out a black bag. Fascinating. Surely they had taken that from him? Confiscated?

G chuckled and I was sorely tempted to stomp on his toes.

“Fine, Doctor. I will need an apron and gloves.” Without turning, he pointed with a leather clad hand toward an entire cabinet of accoutrements. I was already getting a headache from the idea of dealing with a plague ridden half-dissected body with no protection except a glove, but I just rolled my eyes as Agent G audibly laughed.

“Did it to yourself Doc.” His voice was all smooth pride. I needed to check his attitude before it got me hurt. 

“Listen Agent G. You’re here to ensure this interview goes without any danger. Your mouth is going to do just that, so keep your smarmy little comments to yourself or I will request a new Agent and reschedule this.” I even took to pointing the pen to my tablet at him. He just raised his hands in a semi-apologetic manner. I knew he didn’t mean it, but I needed him to know I wasn’t going to take his shit. 

I took one last sip of my lukewarm coffee before setting it on a nearby terminal ledge, and stood in front of the door. I swiped my card, and as I did the two cell guards stood directly behind me. 

The smell was, strong. Putrid, oily, like it would stick to every porous surface. It smelled like roadkill, but heavier, more concentrated. I missed the smell of my coffee already. 

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I saw 049 stiffen, so I paused as well, the two guards cocked their guns, but I raised a hand. 049 pointed to the cabinet once more. I had not seen, but the tips of his gloved hands were, pointed. 

I walked over, setting my tablet down, donning the black apron and gloves, grabbing a face mask just in case. It hung loosely around my throat. The two cell guards stood at the doorway, restraints ready by their sides, guns in hand pressed against them. G was in front of them, his arms still crossed, both automatics holstered. He wasn’t skiddish.

“Just think of this as a fire drill, Doc.” He said, and maybe it was meant to be reassuring, but that was like pouring gasoline all over me and then handing me a box of matches to light. Neither helpful, nor reassuring.

Tentatively, I walked to the other side of the table. The female’s face was bloated and decayed, the eyes milky, mouth open. The tongue had been removed, parts of the lips and cheeks. I was trying not to cry or scream, I wanted to walk out of the room, and so this emotional pressure built in me, but I stayed in place. Jaw clenched, fingernails furiously pressed into my palms.

“Your blood pressure is rising. Again.” He didn’t bother to look at me this time. I saw the same furrowed brow, and wondered if that mask was his face, or what was beneath it. “Hand me that scalpel,” His hands were deep in her torso. I bit my lips as I shakily reached over the corpse, to his bag. I fumbled and handed him the instrument. 

“I assure you, I have this under control. I would not risk your purity—“ 049 was explaining, but Agent G’s laughter interrupted. What I saw next floored me. 

SCP-049 removed his hands, still covered in fluids and bits, and walked over to G. They were about the same height, but I felt the tension. G didn’t flinch, just curled his hand around a trigger.

“If you would kindly, be quiet. Your purpose is to guard against me, not to interrupt. And the more you do, interrupt,” at this point, 049 moved aside to show G the table and myself waiting, “the more you upset her. The more upset she is, the slower she works. You are hindering me by being here and I have serious work to attend to.” The figure he cut seemed to grow larger as he spoke to G, who was all of six feet himself. 

I saw G’s arm flex, like he wanted to pull the gun, but he never made it. He froze, stuck before this looming creature..

049 waited for a reply, a nod, an affirmation of understanding. Which he got, and then his cloaked visage came back to the table where I stood. Agent G, unfurled his hand before returning to his cross-armed scowl.

“Now, you have questions?” 049 did not stop from whatever he was doing picking up the scalpel followed by a sound like metal on bone filling my ears. I felt an unusual sensation of fear and disgust wash over me.

“I..yeah.” I tried to relax, I tried to take in a deep breath, but all I got was a lungful of putrefaction. “The bag?” I asked, going off script. The questions were all standard microbe fair. Is it a virus, is it a bacteria, is it alive..but I had my own personal interest to sate. I knew I would hear about this, but I think at the very least I deserved one freebie.

He stopped for a moment, hesitation I would have called it, but he immediately returned to the task at hand. I kept the tablet near me. I could type the answers quickly and fill them in later, when I wasn't distracted. 

“I keep it in my coat.” 

“No one has tried to take it?” 

“They have,” he started, clearly annoyed by the waste of time, ”but as I have stated before, any attempts to remove my bag are early symptoms of the disease and anyone displaying symptoms must be dealt with.”

"You mean, killed.” I did not make that a question.

“Yes, to be purged, then explored for furtherance."

“Like this, woman, here?” I pointed, using the tablet pen, to what was left of this woman. Her decay rate was insane. I'd been in here for a few minutes and she'd gone from rigor mortis to oozing putrefaction. Days worth of decay at an accelerated rate.

“Yes.”

After several more minutes of silence. I tried to relax my shoulders, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t seem to focus on the actual questions. Also I was getting a headache from the smell. I needed a break. 

INTERVIEW 30% FINISHED. 

“If you will excuse me, I will return in a moment.” I said politely. He nodded. 

The guards parted and I walked out into the hallway. It was cold and still. The air smelled like concrete and faintly of the effluvia in the room. But outside in the hall was a welcome reprieve. Inside, not only was the smell terrible, but being willingly next to the source of said smell was downright unnatural.

The coffee in my mug was cold now, but the lavender taste was familiar and comforting. I held it in hand and walked back into the room, parting the clown party at the door. Before I had crossed the threshold, I saw 049 turn and lock eyes with me.

Walking back in I noticed the same stiffening in 049's posture, and so did the guards. They moved forward, closing the distance between our bodies to show they were seeing a perceived threat. G remained unmoved. I was taken by the movement of the guards that the coffee mug in my hand dropped, shattering on the ground. 

SCP-049 cleared the body from the table. By cleared I mean, wiped the corpse away. One motion. One hand. He never broke eye contact with me. The two guards pulled their guns forward and aimed them toward us.

I hadn't had a chance to duck, to move, all I heard were deafening shots on both sides of me as 049 came toward me. I don't know what sort of guns they had. But I saw at least four bullets disappear into the cloak, jerking 049's body back from the force of impact, but none of them stopped him. I saw a clawed hand come for me, grabbing the coat, forcing my weight into his body. 

A powerful roar and a hail of gunfire unleashed itself into the cell. I felt his claws in my wrist. All sounds deadened from the gunfire. I was pulled viciously into what I can only describe as warm leather. It looked like leather, but it was warm and it was most definitely alive. I wanted to look up, to touch his face, I could see the angered and pained expression that sat on his mask, but now I wondered. Was it a mask?

“G!” One of the cell guards stopped firing, “She didn’t die, stop firing you idiots!” The other two were too engrossed in the fray, but eventually they caught on. If 049 could hear anyone he wasn’t listening. With a force I felt tear my skin, I was thrown down on the table. I screamed. I was sitting in pools of decay and disease, and I was being forced to do so against my will. He leaned down, using his free hand to put both my hands above my head on the metal table. I did not fight to escape, I knew it was futile.

“Let her go or we will be forced to fire on both of you.” I heard G’s voice as 049 and I were pressed against each other’s bodies. “You have five seconds to comply or we open fire.”

I should have heard the countdown begin. I should have cared about the fact that I was about to be shredded by a rain of bullets, but all I could focus on, was that I was in the arms of a terrible monster. And I wasn’t dead. Lethal on contact ran over and over in my head. “Why aren’t I dead?” I managed to ask. His eyes turned back to me.

“You aren’t afraid. Good. They will not harm you.” I heard 049’s voice as he pulled me farther into the folds of his coat, wrapping both his arms around me. I felt impacts, but inside this heavy fabric, I was shielded. 

“Get the FUCK OFF HER.” I heard G’s voice. His masculinity was attempting to command control over this situation, but he should have known from the beginning, he was never in control, and the only power he had was a facade the Foundation put in place to save face.

“049. This is your last warning, let her go or we will be forced to call in reinforcements.” G’s voice kept ripping me away from the reverie of being in this totally unreal situation. “All privileges will be suspended. Subjects will no longer be supplied.”

He might as well have been yelling at someone who was deaf. 049 could care less. He had a subject he didn’t immediately kill and he was far more interested in that than any empty threat. The Foundation needed his cooperation as much as he needed subjects. They knew what the price for non-compliance was. He’d shut down and they’d have to assess whether or not breaking him down into parts was worth it.

I wanted to smooth this out, but I was pinned down. If I stayed where I was I risked escalation. I was deep in my thoughts about how to escape this with little consequence when I heard his voice. His hand was crushing my wrists, but I knew it was out of careless exertion, not malice.

“I smelled lavender.” 

“Oh yeah, I like the taste.” Like really? My coffee? “You’re breaking my wrists, I won’t fight you.” I said, as politely as I could through gritted teeth. He did relax a bit and I felt my body go lax.

“I needed to know.” He did not elaborate on what he meant. I assumed he made some huge conclusion-jump based on what I like in my coffee. Everyone in Hyperion Lab had access to that coffee. I had to remember to make a note of it.

“Oh, like whether or not you’d actually kill me? Based on my taste in coffee?” I was being facetious to him now.

“Do you not trust my knowledge?” He did not sound hurt at all. Stating a fact.

“That’s not fair--”

He hadn’t bothered to respond. He just let me go. Threw me off the table, pretty far from him in fact. I slid on the floor, past the guard and into the wall outside. G grabbed me by the arm in a short enough time for me to say thanks. In a matter of seconds I was descended upon.

I was taken to a Debriefing Room where I was told to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry,
> 
> I did not, 
> 
> I sincerely did NOT intend for this to be a slow burn, but like, whatever the sex version of a slow burn is, is where this is headed.
> 
> Can't rush good monster fucking.
> 
> I mean you can, but it will ruin this.
> 
> If you want faster monster fucking, please let me know. *eyebrow wiggle* 
> 
> If not, buckle up cause this is gonna be a fucking ride. Literally. And metaphorically.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I FORCED myself to write this. I had been really hard on myself about not rushing this. 
> 
> THIS is only going to get longer, the more I go on and flesh this beauty out.
> 
> I needed to really, just stop grappling with my true monster fucker nature, and get down to the intended direction.
> 
> So. Here it is. Non-Consensual Sexual Interaction with SCP-049.

It was cold in the room and I hadn’t had enough time to gather myself. I had taken off my coat and thrown it into the corner in a fit of frustration. I had also ruined my shirt, but I wasn’t about to sit topless in a cold concrete and metal room.

The medics came in to take my vitals, drew blood, and bandaged my bruised and bloodied wrists. Leather is soft, but SCP-049 had dragged me around using my wrist forcing the weight of my whole body, and the strength of his own, onto a small portion of my own. Damage was inevitable. With that force alone I was surprised it hadn’t broken. It didn’t even hurt when I looked at it, but it needed to be tended to.

Now it was time for the parade of questions. 

I had someone from Juniper Lab come in. Some U.P. in Louboutin heels with an honest-to-God clipboard. No tablet. You know you’re in for it when the paperwork is on actual papyrus and not digitally stored. Must be crossing the desks and hands of some curmudgeon old power types stuck in the 60s. Old School Government.

“There is no lens through which I can view this as I need to view it.” She began. “I have one omni-camera placed in SCP-049’s containment cell, and even with this we can’t watch what unfolded in the interview, but all of us agreed..” 

Her nails were long, longer than mine, and she clicked them as she spoke. It gave me the impression of a rattlesnake, of some apex predator, sounding a warning. It did not give me any incentive to tell her any semblance of the truth. “What happened was not entirely what transpired I gather.” Her eyes were on me like daggers. My throat closed, I wanted to tell her the truth, but I choked.

“I don’t know. I saw him flinch, next thing I know I was on the table.” I said it all in one exhale. Her pretentiousness rubbed me the wrong way. I was dead, as far as I saw it. Maybe I didn’t die when SCP-049 touched me, and maybe it would have been a small mercy if I had, but I was Foundation Property now and they would not let me go home until I was in a box, all my pieces catalogued and tested to the fullest satisfaction of theirs.

“He touched you and you did not die.” Her tone took on a bite. Acidity to match the impossibly thin heel she wore on the concrete. No patience, no bullshit taken. I bet she and Agent G would make a killer couple.

“Thanks, that’s the tenth time I’ve heard that.” I knew why 049 was so short with us all the time. We must have asked him the same damn questions dozens of times. 

“What about this then?” She threw down a bag with my shattered coffee mug in it. 

“My broken orientation mug?” I said, with a slight question to my voice. I picked up the bag and looked at it, then at her.

“What was in it?” She was hugged the clipboard now, her eyes narrowed. Those impossibly perfect, winged eyeliner eyes like daggers. Staring me down. 

“My coffee?” I felt like some second grader trying to read a physics textbook. Like what the fuck did any of this have to do with anything?

“There’s lavender in your coffee. We tested it.”

“So?”

“Didn’t you read the dossier?”

“I skimmed enough to read ‘don’t let scary monster touch you or you die’.” I replied. “But I don’t recall anything about lavender being dangerous. Wasn’t it supposed to be soothing to him? I figured diluted in the coffee it presented little to no risk.” She had counted on me being careless, but I wasn’t. I took a calculated risk and it had presumably backfired ,“I don’t know, but unless you’re willing to subject some D-levels to my awful coffee and send them in there, this is pointless.” 

“Nothing here is pointless.” She turned and walked out, leaving me in the cold room, alone.

Hours later I was escorted to what I can only describe as a Foundation Hotel Room. Less secure and scary than a containment cell, but clearly made to keep you. There were fresh clothes laid out. A jumpsuit, with my name embroidered on it. 

Dr. Swan. In stiff white thread. On the ugliest cobalt. I just walked into the bathroom and disrobed, throwing the remainder of my clothes that had soaked up the pool of decay I had been thrown into, in the trash.

I must have stood under the hot water for at least twenty minutes. I kept thinking about the feeling of him coming for me. The feeling of his hands on me, pulling me, pushing me. How I could feel the impact of the bullets, but how I didn’t get hurt. The entire time he kept his eyes fixed on me. Those piercing blue eyes.

And instead of holding onto me, forcing me, killing me any other way, he pushed me away from him, but why? I doubted I would ever know. Even if I asked.

My heart was pounding like a drum in my ribcage, skin bright red. I pushed the shower door out of the way, and stepped out. My long, dark hair was plastered to my face, cheeks flushed. I padded out to where the bed was, and put on an oversized shirt, and laid down. There was a tray with food and water, but I wasn’t hungry. I drank some of the water.

There was only a small clock on a dresser near the bed. It said 2348.

I sighed and tried to close my eyes and sleep. I was confused, sad, and exhausted. I didn’t know what to expect, what to do, so I just tried to calm myself enough to let my body rest. 

In the morning, I would ask if SCP-049 had sustained any damage, and if he was hurt. I doubted it. I read about regenerative capabilities and he was..a doctor. He wasn’t human, and I had to admit that he's a monster. Why did I feel bad calling him monster? It wasn’t even in a derogatory manner, it was just a convenient label. Like cowboy, or scientist. I guess I wanted him, human. Compatible. Digestible. Relatable. 

I was worried about him and it was definitely trauma bonding. There was no point, worrying about a monster. We had him here, in a cage. What could I do? I was in a cage of my own now. And even if I could manage to get us out, what the hell would we do then? 

I laughed, imagining us driving off into the sunset. Just an ex-government worker and a plague doctor monster with the sherbert colored sky. I felt like the fucking dumbest person on the planet. But I comforted myself with the idea, if Agent G had taken a bullet for me, I might have played him out to be some secret hardass hero. It wasn’t me, it was psychology. 

I rolled over onto my side. There was zero point to think about any of this, but I was alone with my thoughts. I was alone with all these questions I would never get answers to. I tried to put a pillow between my legs, I tried to twist myself up in the blanket, but no matter how I tossed and turned, I just thought about his eyes. I felt his hands on me. 

I thought about what would have happened if there hadn’t of been guards. If we had been alone. He would have grabbed me, after I dropped the mug, thrown me down on the table. Would he have been more willing to explore my body, physically, or would it have been between two professionals? 

I wanted to venture farther into these feelings, but I also knew the room was bugged, monitored, and privacy was a luxury I had given up when I signed my contract.

I tried to close my eyes and drift off, eventually, letting the feeling of the rough pressure of his hands on my wrists, turning into the comfort of touch. Being wrapped in his cloak, a heavy weight, a small blessing of a memory to soothe me in the midst of my own thoughts.

At 0650 I heard a pounding on the door. I sat straight up. I looked over at where I had left the dinner tray to see it had been replaced.

“Dress, eat, and be ready in ten, we’re taking you to SCP-049 for testing.” The voice was from behind the door so whoever it was, was gone.

I barely had time to register that new food had been brought, along with coffee. I was not surprised I had visitors while I slept. I did as I was told. I slammed the bitter coffee, I ate the eggs and toast, and put on the jumpsuit that, despite being cinched at the waist, was awful and unflattering. 

It shouldn’t have mattered, except it mattered immensely. I felt vulnerable, I felt alone, and all I had was myself. And as a woman I armed myself with my appearance, and here, now, I had little to no control. It was just my bare skin, my mussed hair, and whatever genetics had bestowed. All I could do was wait.

Clipboard was waiting, in a pencil skirt, with four armed guards and Agent G in tow. There was no expression on his face, but hers was annoyed. I didn’t like this, but I had no choice. I stepped out and walked as obediently as I could. I had to comply.

“We will have you in his cell along with him. You are to do exactly as he says.” Her voice cut into me. I was already clenching my jaw. For the rest of the distance, there was only silence, just the sound of footfalls.

When we arrived, there was an orange jumpsuit waiting outside the cell. I had to take in a deep breath. She was very much alive and well. I ran through a thousand different scenarios while I was halted. The cell door was opened, and she was escorted in by the cell guards. I caught a glimpse of the mask and cloak. I looked for any signs of humanness, for the flesh of the neck, for the wrist, for anything, but all I caught was the sight of him as he moved through the crack in the door.

Agent G moved back to me as I stood. The door to the cell closed, and I waited. Inside I heard nothing, low talking, then footfalls. A whimper, crying, soft whimpering from the throat that echoed. 

“Please, please, no.” And with that silence. I had seen tapes of this, but I just assumed he was given subjects that had already passed.

“He has a purpose. We all do. If all we do is supply him with frozen bodies he gets upset.” Agent G was trying to explain. I felt a knot in my throat, a tight, hot knot. “It takes a certain personality to do that he does.” 

“Oh kind of like you and your job?” I crossed my arms and looked at him. 

“You signed a contract. You see what goes on in here as much as I do. You stayed, same as I did, for the money.” He knocked me right down off my high horse. “Look, I’m not here to fight you. You have immunity. Don’t cause a scene. Don’t fight, it will only make things worse.” With that he moved away. 

“Don’t give me your little spiel.” I hissed. “You don’t know me, don’t pretend you care. About me or any other life you send to its demise.” 

He was, half right though. I did sign on for the money, but I kept my mouth shut because I knew people who left, who spoke out, who defied the terms of their contracts, disappeared in the night. Families gone with no word. I figured, what harm was bacteria? A petri dish isn’t a concentration camp. Wrong.

The two guards standing in front of the cell waved us over and G nodded his head towards the door. The door opened, and I walked in, crossing the threshold just far enough to feel the door close behind me. Hearing the metallic click of the lock.

There on the table was a woman, another woman, still in her suit, her long hair splayed out around the edges, a blonde waterfall. Like she was asleep.

“Dr. Swan. You will be assisting me again today then?” His voice was like a vibration, seeping into my muscles and bones. Low. I nodded. “Good. Will you undress the patient and begin observations. Please use your previous precautions.” He pointed, once again, toward the cabinet of caps, gowns, gloves, and masks.

The smell of death was not prevalent yet. It smelled like she had shit herself, a byproduct of the releasing of the muscles. The final relaxing. I tiptoed, past him as he stood over her, pulling the black bag from inside the folds of his cloak. I put on my accessories quickly. I moved around him, to her. I stood over her for a moment. Her eyes were opened in terror, wide. I brushed my hand over them. 

“Undress and clean the body.” He said, as he began to pull items out of the bag. A bowl, filled with dried herbs and flowers, fragrant. Small vials, some empty some full. And finally, a rolled satchel with different instruments. I unzipped her jumpsuit and threw it in a nearby trashcan marked for incineration. I looked around at how to wash her, and realized his set up was less medical, and more like that of an embalmer. I washed her quickly and without giving him a moment to give me further directions I moved over to the cabinet to give myself a moment.

That woman was not asleep. She was dead.

“She will further the cause, to save others.” I wasn’t sure if he had meant to be comforting, but all it did was turn my stomach. 

I didn’t have it in me to argue. I didn’t want to.

He had cut her open and was draining her blood into the bowls. Her body was pale and lifeless, doll-like, splayed out. He had several syringes out, and was holding one out to me. It was filled with some black liquid.

“If it upsets you so much, you may have her back. I will acquire another.” His mask was toward me. The sound of his leather, moving against itself, the sight of his mask as he waited for me to acknowledge him. 

“If I bring her back they will kill her again. She is gone. There is no undoing it.”

“I saved her.” He stood up to regard me. He stood aside from the body.

“I know.” I walked back over. Her flesh now had bubos near her armpits and groin. Her lips had begun to pull back giving her a more, skull-like appearance. The decay rate was accelerated. Signs of a disease that none of us had became present. 

For hours I assisted as he systematically dissected her body. He took notes in a small, black notebook using a quill no less. I had accidentally rubbed my face using my gloved hand, and after a small freak out, 049 had assured me I would suffer no consequences. In a formal way, he had told me to chill out. After watching him fill an empty vial with it’s own black liquid I looked at a clock, 1334.

“Can we stop for lunch?” I asked as he was, rooting around in her emptied ribcage. I assumed he was going at her spine from the top down.

“Lunch?” He asked me, quizzically, standing up once more. I should have grown used to the sound of him moving, but it was a heavy sound.

“Right right, you don’t eat. Or sleep. Or feel.” I said, turning toward the door. “I need food.” I tapped on the window, the two guards were talking to Agent G. 049 walked toward me and set his hand on my shoulder. I looked back at him. 

“Let me be clear Dr. Swan. While I do not engage in the same reactive protocol as you, this cause is personal to me.” 

The door opened and I stepped through, moving away from the weight of 049’s hand.. Agent G was standing next to Clipboard looking disgusted. If our roles were reversed, I would probably look that way too. 

“Is this it?” I asked, out of curiosity more than anything else as the door closed behind me.

“No. You will be debriefed after you eat.” The clacking of her nails was enough to set me off. A hand on my shoulder as I was handed a tray and ushered to a small table. Agent G stood over me, even going so far as to grab the roll off my tray, eating it. I finished and was escorted back. Clipboard, whose name was Valdence stood. I managed to walk up as one of the guards was speaking to her.

“He is to give you a thorough examination. We will tell him exactly what we want.” After speaking she threw a bottle of something at me. A spray bottle? “Also, he to use this on you.”

“What is it?”

“Lavender.”

“Are you joking?” I was sorely tempted to dowse her with it, but I knew that was a quick way to get disciplined. I sighed heavily. I didn’t have any choice. I walked through the threshold, to find the body of the D-level gone. The table was clean. My adrenaline spiked.

“SCP-049 you are to give Dr. Swan a thorough examination. It will help us understand why she has this immunity. We will give prompts on what information we would like.” Valdence’s voice came through a com system. “She is to disrobe entirely.”  
I whipped my head around so fast, but once again I knew I had no power. No say. My protests were nothing more than an amusement to them at this point. 

049 was standing next to the table with his hands behind his back. I took off the jumpsuit, folding it.

“Now your underwear.” Valdence’s voice betrayed no emotion. They were directions. I undid my bra and stepped out of my panties. “Give SCP-049 the bottle and lie down face up on the table.”

It was not cold in the room, but my entire body was tight. My face and chest were red with embarrassment and anger. I tried to take deep breaths and relax, but my fists were clenched. I tried to make myself comfortable, and all I could manage was to close my eyes and pretend this was a nightmare. “Spray her, then we would like you to palpate her body. We do not wish to harm her, but get as much information as you can about her internal structure.”

049 took the bottle and examined it briefly. With a gentle precision I was sprayed down. The droplets fell in a fine mist over me and immediately the scent of lavender wafted into my nose. 

“I am sorry Dr. Swan.” He dropped the bottle. With a wicked swiftness his hand was on my throat with a crushing pressure. I didn’t struggle, at first, just tried to remain as still as possible. I felt tears welling in the corners of my eyes as I fought for air. With his other free hand I felt the tips of his fingers move through my hair, feeling my scalp. If it had been in a different situation, it might have felt nice, soothing even, but instead it felt disconnected and distant. His hand lifted my head, and I felt my hair tucked underneath my head. His grip was quickly cutting off my air.

“I..” My voice was weak, “I can’t breathe, please..” was all I could say. His grip loosened lightly. His fingers now moved over my face. Over my forehead, down my nose, over my cheekbone. I felt the softness of his gloved hand paired with the tips of his claws, follow a tear trail down to my neck.

I didn’t realize but I’d taken to gripping the sides of the table, pressing the pads of my fingers into the sharp edge where the table folded under to create a rounded edge. I was trying to keep my sobs contained. His hand went over my lip. First top, then bottom, pausing to press. A funny thought flew through me. Was this as closest to a last kiss as I would get? A smile curled across my mouth.

“Go into her mouth. Check her teeth and tongue.” Valdence’s voice interrupted my reverie.

I still couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes, so instead I willingly opened my mouth. He inserted his index finger, the claw gently brushing against my tongue, the thumb pressing up from underneath to pull out my tongue farther. I swallowed, letting more hot tears run down my cheeks, pooling in my ears and hair.

His middle finger went in my mouth as well, filling my palate with the taste of his glove. Leather, a faintly metallic scent, a supple firmness. I tried my best to keep my jaw open as my teeth were examined, gums scratched by his claws.

“Open your eyes..” A command, uttered in his deep voice, “Look at me.” He removed his fingers after dragging across my tongue, a string of saliva came with it. I laid there in silence, trying to regain my composure. Did he just ask me to open my eyes? 

“Open your eyes Swan.” Valdence’s voice boomed in my ears.

I did as I was told. At first I just saw his two fingers in front of my face, but as soon as I looked at him I saw. I saw that his eyes were no longer blue, they had become red, the pupil no longer circular, but a vertical slit. Another rush of adrenaline, as my eyes wandered all around his face. It was no longer a mask sitting in a hood. It was like heat waves disappearing into the darkness of him. “Are you afraid Swan?” Her voice was cruel now. I could hear it. I could hear malice. She wanted something to happen. She was creating the atmosphere.

I shook my head as I stared at 049. The tendrils of smoke, of whatever his mask was made of now, moved with him. He let go of my neck and used the nail on his index finger to move my head back, exposing my neck. Down my throat, to the decolletage. Along the collar bones. 

“Using both hands now SCP-049. I want you to examine her breasts until she gives you a vocal response. Do not harm her. Do you understand?” 

I knew if I wanted this over, I had to go along. It didn’t matter how much I was disgusted or afraid. I had to relax and give them what they wanted. If I was smart enough to play to 049’s behavior, I could be smart enough to give my audience what they sought so I could be left alone. I needed time. I nodded to 049, as his red eyes never left mine. It was just a gentle movement, barely perceptible.

His hands were on me. They started on my ribcage, lower than I expected. The material he was wearing was warm. And it was just as soft as it felt in my mouth. He was going slow, watching my face for signals, cues. With a slip, he lifted far enough off my skin to brush gently over my nipples. I had to block out the fact there were others watching, listening, recording. I had to focus on him, on the sensation. 

“..please..” I started, staying still. “Talk to me.” I felt my face flush, but if I could hear his voice, I could make this work.

“I told them before. You are immune. Pure. This exam is futile.” His hands were moving over the sides of my breasts. He did not sound, disinterested, but something else. His eyes moved to where his hands were.

“Tell me what you feel on my body. What you would tell them to write.”

“I feel healthy breasts. You are fully capable of carrying young to term. To feeding.” He brushed over my nipples once more, this time with more pressure. I bucked my hips involuntarily, a low moan caught in my throat. I felt my body lag as I relaxed. It worked. I just needed to focus to fake my way through this. 

“Good. Move to the abdominal exam.” 

He looked away, focusing on the soft parts of me, from my solar plexus, my diaphram, the ribcage, to my lower abdomen. He was applying a deep, but gentle pressure. Although he was not hurting me, I could feel myself tightening and engaging my core.

“Tensing.” Was all he said aloud. “I can’t feel if you are tense like that.” His right hand was moving across where my lower intestine sat. He was pressing deeply and he moved across. I pushed my knees together involuntarily.

“Press in the center SCP-049.” 

He did and I bit my lip. He looked to me. Those eyes, unapologetic. He pressed once more and I felt my breathing intensify. He was pressing on my g-spot from the outside. 

“The pelvic exam will be a bit different. You will need to go internally. You will not stop until she has had an orgasm. Just like was shown earlier.”

I went to go sit up, but his hand was on my chest quicker than I could respond, pressing me gently down into the table.

“I was shown what was expected. Relaxing is key.”

“How the fuck can I relax?”

“I will talk to you about what I am feeling.” He was looking at me, but all I could go was throw my arm over my face in utter embarrassment and anguish. “Do you not wish to look at me?” He asked. It was not personal. He was attempting to make me feel more comfortable. “I can cover you with my cloak while we do this.”

A wicked grin. I nodded and he descended on me. His cloak covered me from my head to my knees. We were unbearably close. “This procedure works better if we are in closer proximity.” His face, mask, was about a foot away from mine. I was flooded with the scent of clove, lemon, cinnamon. I wanted to know why his voice didn’t sound muffled, if it was a mask, but I didn’t care. I just nodded in agreement.

His one hand went behind my back, lifting me up gently so I was at an angle, the other between my legs near my knees.

“You are already in a heightened state of arousal. They ensured that earlier with the exam. I am going to check you for proper lubrication.” He gently pressed between my legs, using the claw of his thumb to part my lips. Using his index finger, he ran one long stroke from my entrance to my clit, causing me to buck. He tightened his grip a bit. “I am going to penetrate you now. You are allowed to move, to react vocally, but try not to squirm too much, I do not wish to harm you accidentally..” He showed me his long claws and I held my breath. He did as he said, pressing fully into me. I yelped at the intrusion, but soon relaxed. The sensation of a gloved finger inside of me, was not entirely unpleasant. He felt warm against me. Without thinking I pressed my hips into the palm of his hand. He responded by moving deeper. 

“You--” He started, but I stopped him, shaking my head to indicate no more talking now. He moved the claw gently against my g-spot. He immediately knew I was not sufficiently turned on enough to achieve orgasm. Instead he pushed deeper into me, massaging my cervix with the pad of his finger. I had grabbed onto his coat and I had buried my head into his shoulder. 

“Use another finger.” I whispered hoarsely. He knew what he was doing! He gently pressed his middle finger into me, feeling for my g-spot, moving back to the cervix. He was met with my hips, pressing against him hungrily. With a steady and consistent pressure he massaged me, every so often checking to see if I was ready to orgasm. The strokes inside of me becoming longer and longer, to include stimulation of my g-spot. 

I was breathing heavily into his shoulder now. I wasn’t moaning, but I could hear myself begging him, urging him on.

“Please, please..” I said breathlessly. He did not stop, he did not slow down, he continued. His arm supporting me, his middle and index fingers milking every last ounce of pleasure and wetness out of me on that table. “I’m so close.” I said to him as he began to focus more on my g-spot. Without warning he laid me down and with his now free hand, pressed on my g-spot from the outside. 

I felt a white hot light flash over me as I came. Then total exhaustion as my entire body went limp. He immediately pulled away, leaving my flushed and used body on the table, exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No dick penetration..yet. 
> 
> PATIENCE.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

POST EVENT DEBRIEFING  
SUBJECT AK-47890086//SCP-049  
EXPERIMENT 001

Nothing felt strange, even though I knew it was. I was flooded with endorphins, serotonin, and [surprise surprise] a decent amount of oxytocin which promotes bonding. Unaware I was lying on a different metal exam table now. I kept thinking about the weight of his hands on me. Pushing deeper and deeper inside of me. The mons of his gloved hand slamming into my pubic bone, the soft leather doing nothing to hide the strength in his fingers and arm.

“Dr. Swan?" Fuzzy voices, soft and distorted, all filtered out as background noise, ‘block it all out’ the chemicals told me ‘feel good now’.

"Dr. Swan, respond please." The voice was clearer now, sharper. Valdence's tone was severe.

"What?" I snapped back, irritably. I opened my eyes, sat up, and immediately regretted it. There were two bright lights from the ceiling pointed right at my exposed body. My own fluids were still wet between my legs, pooling on the table a bit, and worst of all, I was naked.

I shielded my eyes with my arm, while putting my knees together.

“Can I get a gown?" I cleared my throat. My eyes were squinted and my hands covering my breasts while I kept my knees closed. "I'd be a hundred percent more coherent and cooperative if I wasn't fighting the feeling of utter humiliation right now."

The lights came down and the standard grouping of examiners and guards were in front of me. Including Clipboard. Agent G was not in the room. I doubted he had the mental capacity for anything beyond trigger pulling. Instead it was a grouping of three white coats. All equipped with their own machines, stethoscopes, thermometers, needles and vials.

One came forward, gently placing a gown on me. The rubber of the glove inadvertently touching my skin making me recoil.

"That's rather fascinating, don't you think?" Valdence's long, lacquered nails tapped the board as she wrote. Pen on paper, a dampened scratch. I felt a fury rise in my chest at the sheer pretentiousness of her presence. I had been voluntarily violated by a MONSTER because it was THAT or DEATH. I didn’t think any of this was funny. “But perhaps it isn’t. Maybe I’m the only one who sees a bit of beauty and the beast in this scenario.”

If that was what this sick bitch thought, her fucking red lipstick and Louboutins, then Wicked Step-Mother she was.

“That’s twisted of you, to compare what’s going on here to a fairy tale.” I lashed out, tired, and semi-uninhibited. I immediately regretted it. If she wanted to make my life hell, she could. The person who had given me a gown was now taking vitals and drawing blood. I focused on that rather than the anger and helplessness I felt sitting on that table. Everyone else was in hazmat gear, but Valdence was in her pencil skirt, unadorned with any medical garb whatsoever. Nonplussed about any of what was going on around her. “I get that you’re upset, understandably so.” She stepped out into the light, her pale face and blonde hair showing. She had glassy blue eyes and she should have looked innocent, but she just looked evil and bitter. “It wasn’t always Disney, it came from a much darker place before that.” She didn’t even bother to turn as she walked away. “They will take your vitals, return you to your cell, then come for you when further testing is warranted.”

“You’re DELUDED.” I hissed one last time before she walked through the door. It didn’t stop the door from slamming, but gave me a momentary feeling of superiority, which was short-lived.

I was sitting on a metal table, in a facility I knew I wouldn’t get out of, after being given a very intimate feeling by something that would normally kill people.

Something, not someone. Even that felt callous. There was sentience there, but was it cruel of me to separate myself from it? I had no hope of getting any semblance of normalcy back and the person in front of me asking me mundane medical questions just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“How do you feel?” The voice was muffled, through the filter of the suit.

“I feel like I just got fucked by a monster.” I felt tears welling at the corner of my eyes, and suddenly the weight of the events that had happened toppled what little grip on together I had. I knew this person wanted to console me, even inside the suit was another human being capable of empathy, but it was the same one that watched me wince when they brushed me earlier. Any attempts at comfort were moot.

“There is an agent outside waiting to escort you back to your quarters.. There are clothes waiting for you over there.” The face of the medical examiner was hidden behind a reflective plastic, but I didn’t care. I just got up, walked over, dropped the gown and changed.

Outside Agent G was waiting, arms crossed, sunglasses on. He got up off the wall as I walked out in my jumpsuit. I was oddly relieved to see him and not someone else.

“C’mon monster fucker, let’s get you set up with your new digs.”

CELL DOOR NO. 760854

GUARD ASSIGNED: AGENT G LEVEL CLEARED  
NO VISITORS UNLESS AUTHORIZED  
USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED

And with that, the boat capsized. I just let the hot, salty tears go. I didn’t even care if I was embarrassed or humiliated, I was hurting so badly inside. I used the sleeves of the jumpsuit to try and wipe the tears away, but the material didn’t absorb well, so I just irritated my skin. The snot sat on the inside of my sleeve as I walked behind him. I felt like I was six, being marched off to bed. Maybe it was for the best.

That glowing screen said it all. If it wasn't real before, there is was, in code. In the same code I read day in and day out. I was part of this now. With a swipe of his keycard, it unlocked and he stood aside and ushered me in with a mock bow.

I didn’t bother to look at his face, I just let the tears pour down my cheeks, flooding my eyelashes, the corner of my eyes, pooling in the corners of my lips. Only a real monster would have ignored my distress.

The door closed behind me, no remark. No apology. No kinds words. Just the door closing off the light from the hallway.

I hadn’t really expected one. I didn’t bother looking for a switch to turn on any illumination, or exploring. I just found the bed, and let myself collapse into it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yesterday my troubles seemed so far away  
> and now there's nothing left to do, but watch the choices slip away
> 
> Our conversation disappears in recrimination 
> 
> They're just words in the distance, like birds inside my head, and  
> the water runs red  
> you're a stone on the windscreen,   
> you shatter the world ahead"
> 
> Blue Foundation, Ricochet

CELL NO. 760854  
DAY 004  
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY  
DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED

It was no small favor that when I woke up, there was a French press coffee waiting for me. The metal plunger connected to the filter hadn’t been depressed yet, which meant, either the person making it didn’t know how to make coffee using this method, or it was fresh. After yesterday, I felt like it was a sign I was supposed to keep it together and keep moving forward. 

The room wasn’t large, it was modest. A bed, a dresser, a narrow table with two chairs, a bathroom, and that was it. Just the door in and out. No windows, no television, no books, nothing. I had no idea how long I would be staying at this particular hotel, but I doubted it would be long. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I depressed the plunger pressing the metal filter and the grounds to the bottom of the glass, then poured a mug.

The aroma of lavender filled my nose and my stomach turned a bit. I felt like throwing the mug against the wall. I felt like throwing up, but I still needed the caffeine and I was trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. I sat in the chair, knees pressed against my chest. I just stared down at the abyssal liquid, my own face staring back at me. I looked tired, hair a total mess. I cried myself to sleep, but I just didn’t have it in me to stress out about it.

I was still tired, my body was aching from the uncomfortable and unfamiliar place I was now. I fingered at the embroidery in my cobalt jumpsuit. I felt the letters in my name, etched in the stiff fabric. I felt the smooth front and then the messy, hidden back. The door opened suddenly and I turned, from my chair. 

In the doorway stood Valdence, Agent G and two other agents at his back. I knew I was no better than a D-Class at this point, it was simply a formality I hadn’t been given an orange jumpsuit.

“There is no conclusion we can come to, to explain any of this aside from the lavender.” Valdence walked in, holding a tray. There was no clipboard in her arm, cradled as most women her age would have cradled a child. I laid my head on my knee and waited. She walked over and sat down across from me, scooting a tray toward me.

“I know you don’t particularly like me, and I can see why.” The tray had a croissant on it, and several pieces of bacon. It smelled heavenly, but I tried not to show outward interest.

“You have no idea what it’s like.” I sounded pitiful, even to myself. ‘Woe is me’, I thought mockingly, but I was bored and I was sad, all I had was this little game with her right now before I went back into isolation.

“You’re right,” she began, quieter now, “but when we all started here, we knew this was a dangerous job. Danger is relative in all facets.”

“Spare me the speech from the ivory tower, all right?” I wanted to stand up and walk away, but I had nowhere to go to. The bathroom, close the door behind her like some angry teenager? There was no dignity in any of it. She narrowed her eyes and went to tap her fingernails, but instead caught herself and took a deep breath in. “What? What do you want? I have to cooperate or I will be punished, inevitably killed. I have no choice. I am trying to be complicit in this, but excuse me if it is a huge adjustment going from being able to come and go as I please, to being kept in a room like a fucking hampster.” I picked up the mug and took a swig, trying not to feel like that was definitely a teenage outburst. Valdence smirked at me a bit. I hated her white teeth and red lipstick more than ever.

“That is why I am here now.” Her voice was assuring, and she pushed the tray closer to me now. “We knew what you are capable of, all of your work is on record, and fairly impressive I might add. I know it is random happenstance that the incident involved you, but nonetheless, here we are. I am currently discussing with the UP making this a short term project.”

I pushed myself out of the chair now, palms down on the table.

“There is no way. I have been FUCKED by an SCP.” I screetched. Valdence sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. I think I insulted her by denying the potential. 

“Let me finish. You also have worked here, tirelessly, unquestioningly. You have never once spoken, written, or even thought about exposing the work here.” She began to go for the croissant, but I grabbed it first. “Many have been approached, and we know you have been on several occasions. Friends, family even. You have not given up any information.”

“No offense, but who the hell are you fucking to get this to work?” The laughter from the background warranted a turnaround from both of us. While between two women that sort of question might have been acceptable, the response from an outsider was disrespectful. Agent G cleared his throat and went back to standing quietly.

“I am not fucking anyone. I have been with The Foundation from its conception. I’m a Primary.”

“No.” I had about a thousand questions, including timeline, but I felt like I had already been pushing it with this entire interaction, so I sat quietly on them.

“Yes.” She answered curtly. I took a bite of the end of the croissant, getting a taste of the still warm chocolate. I didn’t want to admit it, but this was too good to be true.

“Well fine, I have my hopes up, whether I like it or not.” 

“You will be allowed to move about the facility, supervised. You will be included on the project, the findings. And if approved, once this is done, you will be given clearance to leave and go home, assuming you stay on at the Foundation.” Valdence stood, straightening out her skirt as she walked toward the door. “These are all conditional stipulations.” Finishing when she got to the threshold of the door, “Sit tight. I will have preliminary files sent to you, along with a projected timeline.”

As she crossed the threshold, the door shut.

Outside, Agent G stood stoically. Glasses ever forward.

“That’s pretty fucked up Val.” His voice was low and disapproving. Valdence gathered her clipboard from a desk near the door. 

“She’s going to die anyway, G. What does it matter to you? This is your last low-level security detail, all you have to do is make it through this and then you can get that upper level clearance you want so badly. All the boogey man hunting you can handle.” 

Agent G didn’t like how this sat in his chest. He was tired of babysitting, but this was not how he wanted to get where he wanted to go. Like sitting on your couch with a loaded shotgun, just to shoot your own dog.

+++

HOUR 1301  
SUBJECT AK-47890086

I waited, flipping idly through the manilla folder that was slipping in through the food chute. It seemed harmless enough. I had been chosen out of ease. Valdence was correct, unfortunate timing lead me to be the human component to this experiment. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, I had experienced what no other scientist would ever have. The plate with my sandwich sat untouched. I felt a strange sensation, like anxiety, but more impending doom.

The door opened and I closed the folder. I knew it was coming. There was more to be found out. 

“C’mon MF.” Agent G curled his lip in a smile, shortening the moniker to initials instead of saying what it was, what it really meant.

“Whatever micropenis.” I narrowed my eyes as I followed him out into the hallway. Valdence was nowhere in sight, which was fine with me. I had had enough of her for a while. 

I was lead down the hallway by Agent G, two lesser guards behind me. I knew where we were going. Down the familiar hallway. Outside there were three more scientists, the guards stood aside. 

“You know what is happening then?” A female asked me. I nodded, trying not to be so nervous I was visibly shaking. I was going to get naked, I was going to be oiled, and then I was going to be sent into this containment cell like some offering. I didn’t have a choice, and as long as I complied, I wouldn’t be hurt. He, if he was a he, had been cordial, polite, and competent. He was a doctor. I had immunity.

“Yes.” I was trying to logically walk myself through what was going to happen. Like getting into a lake when you’d just watched Jaws. Like you KNOW the shark isn’t there, but your subconscious is telling you that you should NOT trust water you can’t see through. The scientist nodded, stepping aside. Agent G took position on the wall directly across from the door, and the two guards flanked him as the door to the containment cell opened.

SCP-049 stood next to the table, and I knew my heart was pounding. I had gently oiled my body with lavender before I had redressed earlier, as directed in the manilla folder. All parts of me were covered in the soft scent, the soothing powdery scent of lavender. I had ingested lavender coffee. I was, for all intents and purposes, lavender infused.

The door closed behind me swiftly, but before I heard Agent G, whisper, 

“Good luck MF.”

I should have laughed, but staring down SCP-0-49’s imposing visage, remembering suddenly, the smells of death and decay, seeing the metal table, I started to panic a bit. He noticed and quickly stepped in front of my line of sight of the table. It was too late, I stepped back, now pressed against the door. I didn’t want to be in this room, I did not want to be doing this.

“Unfortunate, but the table is bolted to the floor.” The mask did not show anything to me beyond the beak, peeking out from behind the crest of the hood he wore up. 

Even the stark light of the fluorescent bulbs gave no way to the shadow of his hood. His face, the mask, obscured in the depths of his own shadow. With a quickness that made me scream a little he moved toward me, grabbing me. By the shoulders, a firm grip so as to keep me in place, standing, which was a relief since I didn’t trust my knees to stay steady. 

“I would like to think,” The power in his movement was enough to make me close my eyes. The fingers were in the gloves, but I felt their pressure, as I had before. 

With no idea what he was going to do, and I knew struggling would be futile so I focused on my breathing, which was non-existent. “That if we were alone, we would get to know each other’s minds.” Was all he said to me as he released his right hand long enough to remove the jumpsuit in one movement. It was just snap buttons, but I jerked in response to him pulling it away from violently. Just my underwear and undershirt remained, but even I could smell the lavender. “But I will offer you this, whatever privacy I have, is yours.” 

With that, I felt his hands let go of me, and he stepped back pulling his cloak out enough to wrap us both in it. I did not stop to think about what happened or how it happened, only that I was close to him now, held in his arms, his mask close to my face.

I knew that outside, they were panicking, knowing that the omnicameras were not going to be able to detect any of what was going to happen if he expanded his cloak far enough to enrobe me as well, but I don’t think he cared about them. “Why do they keep provoking me with you?” He asked, his voice clear. There was no mouthpiece in the mask, but his voice came as though he were speaking to me. As he spoke his fingers turned to claws, cutting jagged lines into the cotton of the underwear and shirt, loosening them. “Pull them off.” His voice was low now, like he was holding back. “Hurry.” He urged me. I did my best to yank them away, but before I could finish, his claws dug into the ball of my shoulder and my hip where he was holding me.

“Please..” I didn’t know what I was asking for, mercy perhaps, just to let him know I was afraid. His eyes had been closed, but inside the cloak, where it was dark, they opened and glowed that icy animal blue. The predatory eyes, cold, unfeeling eyes. Whatever Doctor I had known was gone now. This was SCP-049 whose claws were holding me in place.

I felt jolts of gunfire happening. We were being assaulted, but SCP-049 did not care. Eyes locked on me, and mine on his. 

The beak of his mask split in half, revealing a long, prehensile tongue. In a seemingly affectionate gesture, he placed his face next to mine. The tongue began on my cheek, moving down my neck, across my throat. It was checking the pressure points I had placed the lavender oil, lapping them up. I whimpered a bit. I hadn’t distributed it evenly, I had placed it on me like perfume. It should have been fortunate for me, to know where the tongue was going, but knowing exactly where I had placed the oil offered me no comfort. “Please..” I began, pushing against his impossibly strong arms. His eyes moved down to my breasts, then back to my eyes. I watched as his tongue moved back to his beak, it closed.

He only said one word to me.

“Consequences.”

After uttering that word, in a voice like an avalanche, a clawed hand went over my mouth, his knees now supporting my lower half, other hand still on my shoulder keeping me upright. I screamed, with every ounce of energy I had, and I thrashed against his impossibly strong grip, but all it did was reinforce that I was outmatched. I was not going to break free, but I’d be damned if I was going to do any of this complacently. I was going to go hoarse before I laid there quietly. So I screamed and I cried as I watched the beak split back in two, that long tongue immediately wrapping itself around my neck, tightening as it used the tip to taste the points on my jugular where the oil had been. I tried to bite his hand, but he was completely unphased and my teeth were no match for the thick leather. All I managed was to make a mess of my own face, to exhaust myself. Removing his tongue from my neck, he moved down around my breasts, the thin tip moving over my nipples, flicking back and forth.

I used the screaming to disguise how good it was making me feel. I felt sick from the exertion, from the sick ease I felt from this entire interaction. The heat of him pressing me against his leather, the palms of his gloves holding me firmly, the hot air I was fervently exhaling out my nostrils like an enraged bull. There was no way there was that much oil on my breasts, it was something else. My eyes scanned my own body, even in the dark of the cloak, I knew, I knew exactly where I had put the oil. Between my legs. The inside of my thighs. For a moment he loosened his grip, letting me fall to the cool floor. I welcomed it, but it was all too brief.

His weight shifted over me. We were still shielded by his cloak, but he was able to hold me. He forced my hands under my butt and with a knee over my pelvis he held me in place. He placed a hand over my throat, but I immediately winced and turned away. He pulled his hand away, but drew his finger and wagged it at me. He signalled for me not to struggle or he would use force.

Kneeling perpendicular to me, he continued. Tongue exploring down my sternum, over my belly button. I had to tell myself to relax, but I was not enjoying the texture of his tongue on my bare skin. Slimy. I didn’t have a choice, I just told myself to close my eyes and think of someone else, of being somewhere else. To think of after this happened. Be anywhere but here. 

SCP-049 watched as she shrunk as small as possible, coiled herself inwardly, physically, psychologically. Eyes closed tightly, breathing shallow. With one hand he went to touch her hair, but saw it was not a hand, but a claw. He pulled back from her slightly, also realizing that his face was very close to her abdomen. If he looked, he could see the pores and tiny hairs. The taste, familiar, floral, lavender was in his mouth, along with sweat. In his mouth, he thought. In his mouth, his eyes followed the curve of his beak, down, to his tongue which was sitting idly on her thigh. 

They were under his cloak. He smelled the lavender. He wanted more. Her saliva was on his glove, he could smell her saliva on him. On his palm.

“Swan,” He said to her, pulling back a few inches. “It is almost over now.” 

Her eyes opened, slowly, looking to him. Her shoulders slumped as he continued.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post tongue bath time with Agent G.
> 
> Who is an insufferable prick. 
> 
> Man, if I had a type. It's the legendary trope of two people who are reincarnated across time and space, just to fucking hate each other.

I felt the weight of him on me, I felt my core tensing as the tongue slithered over my thigh, down to the inside where I had hastily smeared the oil. I had held a snake once, and felt the smooth coolness of it as it slid over my arm and hand. The tongue was warm, it was wet, and it felt like it had a life all its own, but somehow still connected. SCP-049 laid on me, body still. His knee was still over my pelvis, head resting on my legs. A million thoughts flew through me as the tongue rested the bulk of itself on my right thigh, and then reached over to my left to caress the other spot off. I had my eyes closed tightly, hyperfocusing on what I was feeling instead of trying to open them and process what I might be seeing.

After a few short exploratory movements, then tongue retracted. The weight of his body was pulled up off of me, gently. A soft fabric laid down over me. Muffled voices.

“Come on MF, get up.” Agent G’s gruff voice was in my ear and I opened my eyes, gingerly. I wanted to tell him to stop calling me that, but I didn’t. He was standing over me, three meds behind him standing tensely. None of them wanted to be here, but they had their jobs to do, and the sooner they collected the information they needed, the better. G had a gun in his hand, and I noticed a smattering of shells all around his boots.

“Is, is he still here?” Sotto Voce. I didn’t even realize I’d said it out loud. Agent G was standing in my line of view of him, of SCP-049. I immediately thought of how SCP-049 tried to block my view of the table earlier. G got down on one knee, giving me his hand to get me up off the floor.

“Yeah, your boyfriend is standing in the corner for SCP time-out.” His glasses showed me a reflection of myself. My face was flushed and puffy, my hair unsightly. I grabbed his hand and he pulled toward my feet, which helped raise me up off the ground. Immediately I was surrounded by the meds, which took vitals, temp, blood pressure, asked preliminary questions. 

“Hold still, we need to take a sample of whatever this is..” One of them trailed off, swabbing the saliva off my neck. I haven't even tried to wipe myself off. I was still numb from the interaction.

“Out. Everybody out now.” Agent G boomed, scattering the three meds. I looked down, the only thing I had on was a meager blanket. “C’mon MF.” He used the gun in his hand to make a motion toward the door, but I had enough of his bullshit little nickname. I turned toward him, dropping the blanket. I went to slap him, but his left arm went up, blocking the hit from landing. “Be nice.”

“You first.” I stalked past him, noting that he did not visibly show signs of checking me out. Agent G leaned down to pick up the blanket.

“She doesn’t like you calling her that.” SCP-049 spoke from the corner. His voice was clear, heavy, filling the room. 

“Shut up.” Agent G made one last scan of the room, and walked out, closing the containment door behind him. The medics had Swan sitting in a chair, one was drawing blood. Another was furiously typing as she recounted what had happened. They had given her a gown, so G threw the blanket at one of the two guards standing on either side of the door to the cell.

None of them, of those assigned, had seen anything. The last they heard and saw was when SCP-049 said ‘privacy’ and then enveloped both of them in his cloak.

“Did you see the bag?” The medic asked her. “Did you see where he keeps the bag?”

“No. All I saw was myself and his face.” Swan was pressing her thumbnail into the pad of her of her pointer finger in a nervous motion.

“What is this?” Another held up the swab that was secured in a vial. Swan blinked several times and took a deep breath. Agent G was standing far enough back to give her space, but he was curious. Listening intently.

“I assume it’s saliva from his tongue.” Swan wasn’t looking at anyone.

“Tongue?” The medic repeated back. “Where did the tongue come from?” 

“Ah, well, his beak split. I can’t describe it, because I’ve never seen anything else like it. A long, powerful, prehensile tongue.” Swan was trying to recall the details without remembering the feelings.

“What about the cloak?” Agent G chimed in, parting the medics. They huffed a bit, but his stature allowed him to get the question in. His gun was holstered, but he wanted as much as he could get.

“What about it, asshole? You know as much as I do.” Swan snapped, crossing her arms as she looked up at him.

“You know more than you’re telling.” His tone was accusatory. He was pressing me with his aggression and I wasn’t going to have it.

“And you’re still fucking rude.” I asserted back. “I will answer whatever else you have," I spoke to the medics, ignoring G, "but I want to go back to my cell, and away from him.” I finished, pointing at the behemoth in front of me. 

The three medics moved around Agent G, one kicking up the brake off the wheelchair that I had been sitting in and began to walk me off.

“You need me to get to your cell.” G stated flatly as the three medics and Swan began down the hallway. Their voices were hushed, so he huffed. His only answer was Swan’s raised middle finger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swan is left with a choice to make.

Agent G stood outside while the medics followed me inside. He hadn’t hurried to catch up and then sauntered over to the door while we waited on him. One of the medics actually gave him a short lecture on how his attitude was costing them valuable research time. He did not reply, just swiped his keycard to let us in.

I was ushered into the bathroom. I disrobed and was thoroughly examined, I twisted and turned in front of the three medics trying to avoid seeing myself in the reflection of us all crammed together in the intimate space of the bathroom. The memory of them shielding me from Agent G helped me to push through how uncomfortable I was instead of just shutting down entirely. I felt tears brimming in my eyes, and my cheeks flushing. None of the medics would make eye contact, attempting to save me the embarrassment of this unwanted show of emotion.

“We did not directly observe any interaction. All we have is what you tell us..which is incredibly helpful.” The first medic started, avoiding eye contact as I was handed a flimsy gown. His voice trailed off and I watched as he went to inhale another breath of air to begin another sentence.

“But next time, not so private?” I interrupted before he could even begin. He smiled at me a bit, but the flashes of SCP-049’s tongue over my thighs repeated over and over. Looking at the three faces all aimed at me, I replied, “Yeah I can work on trying to make that happen. I can’t control him, but I can make it clear that I don’t want to be obscured.”

“And you said, a tongue? A mouth?” The second chimed in now. I looked over. I was sitting on the toilet lid while they stood around me. I had the gown, but I had my arms and my legs crossed.

“Yeah, I don’t know guys. It was dark, all I can say is that the ‘beak’ split open and inside was his tongue.”

“How long was it?”  
“I don’t know, two feet maybe?”

“How did it feel? Smooth or rough?”  
“Smooth, warm, wet.”

“Did you see teeth?”   
“No, and he had to retract the tongue in order to speak again.”

“Is there a face under the mask?”  
“I don’t know, I wasn’t looking into his.. maw.”

The questions all came rapid-fire, like an automatic weapon. I did my best, but in all honesty I didn’t have answers really. I didn’t know anymore about SCP-049 than anyone else at the facility.

The all took notes, and finally I was allowed to shower after they had all filed out.

After I was done, I came out to find Valdence sitting at the table.

“There will be another test tomorrow, Swan.” It was the first time she’d used my name. “See to it that it is successful.” And with that, she stood and left. I stood in the cell, dripping water on the floor, and sighed.

CELL NO. 760854  
DAY 007  
TESTING AT 1200

I hadn’t slept well, I showered, but I just laid in the bed in silence. I couldn’t help but think of Valdence saying I could go home after this, about SCP-049 when he told me that if circumstances were different we would get to know each other’s minds, and for some reason I thought of Agent G after the first incident. He had told them I was still alive and to stop firing. His expression anger, brows pressed violently together, the stubble exaggerating his features, eyes backlit by the total incompetence of the other guards as rounds continued to fire. I exhaled and unclenched my jaw.

Foremost, the conversation with Valdence had been a game changer. I felt myself relax a bit, like now all I had to keep an eye on was the maliciousness of the entity I was now sharing a proximity with. His actions were cordial enough, but I had no baseline. That’s the entire reason The Foundation existed. To observe and catalogue these anomalies. No one could walk into a room with any given SCP and come out unscathed without the extensive research that was done by The Foundation. 

I did know they were deliberately provoking a reaction from him, using me as the collateral catalyst. Every time I went into that containment cell, there was an end result they wanted. 

The door to my room opened and I was greeted with the standard three guards, one being Agent G along with one medic. Being sent into the cell didn’t make my stomach turn. Today’s testing just said, ‘standard examination via SCP-049’. The file also specified he only had medical training up to the late 19th century. He would have extensive anatomical knowledge, but not know much about microbiology.

When I walked down the hall, the first time I saw SCP-049 came to mind. Tracing my route through the facility. His eyes when I walked past his cell so strikingly blue, unnatural and disarming. The voice clear in my mind. ‘Your blood pressure is high.’ As my feet moved along the hallway, when I walked into his containment cell, did he remember events similarly? Did he think of me, the image of me, as I passed his window? 

When I walked into his cell, the hairs on the back of my neck raised, and the wave of tension moved all the way to the crown of my head. An uneasiness crept into my chest and throat, curling into a ball and nesting there. I had seen the instruments, the book, and the vials of different fluids. He was a doctor, but when I saw the cloak, the hood, the mask. All it took was the curve of the beak, leading your eyes up to his. There was no warmth or kindness in them, they were cold and they were meticulous. They kept you at a distance. You saw no memory or trace of warmth in their depths. When he looked at you, you felt what all prey feels when they are in the gaze of a predator. Fear, primal, instinctual. Freeze, stay still, don’t move or you will die.

But you also saw a body in a relaxed demeanor. You saw a posture polite, inviting enough. Mannerisms that betrayed no signs of harm. So which did you listen to? The tried-and-true warning bells of instinct or the quiet pleading of logic?

I couldn’t decide if the details in the mask, made sense. They made him look angry, displeased. The furrowed brow and the detail. Maybe he was, maybe it was on purpose. Who knew? I didn’t. Maybe it was to keep you at a distance. To keep you safe, from him or whatever he was dealing with.

“Hello Dr. Swan.” His voice pulled me out of my inner tangle. I didn’t realize I was standing in the doorway to his containment cell, but I was. I stepped in far enough to let the door close behind me. “I have a subject here I’d like to finish before we begin with you.” He turned back to the table, and before I had time to process what he’d said, I heard a sickening crunch.

A thud, and I turned to see a poorly cleaned femur bone on the floor next to his boots. A slow ooze of blood off the side of the table, onto the floor. It hit with a sloppy thud, and he did not move aside as the pool grew in size. I had seen horror movies, but this wasn’t a special effect. Not corn syrup with food coloring. This had been a person. A loose arm flopped off and I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. My heart thudded. That could easily be me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

But all I got was the sickening stench of blood, like pennies, and the putrid ochre of decay lodged deep in my lungs and throat.

He turned to me and immediately I was hit with a rush of adrenaline, but my limbs wouldn’t respond. I had nowhere to run. I wasn’t going to like this testing session. He stepped forward, toward me, and I didn’t realize but I’d begun using my teeth to pick chunks of dried skin off my chapped lips and I’d managed to make my lower lip bleed.

“Does it hurt?” He asked me, flatly. I shook my head no and pulled my lip in to my mouth, trying to suck the blood off. His eyes were not on me, but on my lip. “You do this on purpose?” He leaned down, closer to me than I would have liked. I shook my head no, but noticed the smell. Clove, cinnamon, lemon. I could hear his breathing, I could see the details in his clothing. Leather has lines, like skin, because it is skin. I saw the dark, rich color, the black, but the lines, tiny details you could only see up close. He caught me examining him and my face blushed. We locked eyes.

“Where is that smell coming from?” I pushed out the words. He was close to me, so close, but I had to be brave now. I tried not to recall the feeling of his tongue on my neck how hot and smooth it was, or the weight of his face on my leg, how intimate the entire scene was, instead to focus on the pleasant smell. “The cinnamon and clove?”

“Do you, like being in here?” He did not answer me, simply asked me a question all his own. 

“You scare me.”

“You are not, truly, afraid of me.” He replied, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you write well? Can you write fast?” 

“Fairly well.”

“Good, finish these notes and we may begin.” He went into his cloak and tossed me a journal, a loose cord keeping it closed. I opened, skimming through the pages. Most of them were written in a language I could not understand, that I hadn’t seen before, but I got to a blank page and pulled out the strangely modern pen he had tucked in the spine.

“The disease moves quickly, it does not differentiate between the soft or hard tissue. In this patient..” He went on, and noted when I needed to begin writing. I stood by the door while he hunched over the body. This went on for several minutes, until he stopped. “I would normally reanimate, but it has not been received well.” He turned to me. “Why?”

I closed the leather book and handed it back to him.

“Because that isn’t a whole person anymore. She’s missing her entire left leg, you’ve removed most of the abdominal organs, and not to mention decay has moved into putrefaction.” Keeping level was becoming more difficult. I chose my words carefully, trying to avoid anything negative or critical.

“She is cured.” He sounded proud, his words were louder now. Not defensive or hostile, but like he was proclaiming.

“She shouldn’t have been given to you in the first place.” I retorted. I wasn’t a doctor, but this place didn’t care about consent. I thought of all the D-Class who had been laid out on his table, or the ones who came back put halfway together just to scream in agony. None would have consented to whatever he was capable of doing, regardless. 

“Hm.” He took the notebook I had been holding out, and tucked it back where it came from. I sighed. He didn’t care.

“Should we begin?” My hands were shaking, my throat still tight, and the smell from the body was beginning to make me feel sick. He nodded, without turning back toward me. 

“Disrobe and we will begin.” The voice gave me no idea of how he was feeling, or what he was expecting. I stood by the door, grasping at my shame and modesty. I stepped out of the jumpsuit and left my underwear on.

He had a large trash can, into which I watched him as he pushed the body off the table. I tried not to let the horror cross my face, but it must have. The body was limp, but still, he swept it into the trash as he had swiped the body from the table for the first time. With an ease that was not human. “Come now. None of this is frightening, you will not be affected by any of this. You are immune.” He beckoned to me, as one would a small child or an animal. 

I walked over and stood in front of him, same white underwear and white shirt. It was cold in the room and I felt this tightness in my lower abdomen, a light pressure between my legs. I kept thinking of his weight on me, his warmth, then about the body, the femur, the smell of death lingering all around. Confusion stopped me.

“Come here, now.” His voice was clear, I heard him as plainly as I heard anyone else when they spoke to me, but I was still puzzled at the clarity given the mask. He showed me the table, which was now oddly clean. The blood was still on the floor, but the table showed no signs of just having a body on it. “Lie down on the table and I will examine you.”

I did as I was told, padding over to him with bare feet on his concrete floor. I hesitated, even with his arm open to usher me upward onto the metal. I looked at the pools of decay and blood on the floor, at the trash can with the body folded unnaturally inside of it, and then at him, taking in a deep breath.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” Flat tone, just words, no discernable care or tenderness edged them. A statement, like ‘the sky is blue’. I nodded, and he lowered his hand. “Next time I will make sure the cell is cleaned before we do testing.” His hand, slowly reached out toward me.

I was struck with the odd notion. I was naked and trembling, and he was fully robed in black leather. Death and the Maiden. I needed to let go of my fear. I was not in control of anything, so why all this pretense? I stepped forward and took his hand, using it to steady myself as I laid down on the table. I put my full weight on him and he did not move at all, his arm did not wobble, nor his body adjust to accommodate for mine. He stood, as a statue would.

As I laid down, staring up at the light that was over the table, I didn’t think about the camera recording all of this, or the fact I had no idea what ‘exam’ meant, just that, I had to accept this because fighting it did me no good. 

“Do you ever think about me?” I asked him, out of the blue. He stopped, while rummaging inside his coat. His face turned and looked at me.

“Sometimes, yes.”  
“What do you think of?” I pressed him. 

“What I will learn from you.” After several moments that was his only reply. I sat up on my elbows.

“Learn?” I spat the word at him now. I’d had enough of this. I sat up and turned so I was on the edge of the table, looking at him.

“What goes on inside of you.” His hand pulled out the bag, and from it several vials, filled with different fluids. “What drives you, compels you. How you exist and why. You clench your jaw and drive yourself mad, but you persist.” He spilled out, pulling an empty needle. I inhaled sharply, not expecting that answer. I didn’t know what I had been expecting. He took the needle and my arm. “This will hurt.” And he drew blood. The needle was large, but the procedure took only thirty seconds. “Your blood.” He said, showing me the clear cylinder, now full of the red liquid. “These vials are different stages of the pestilence. Watch.” 

He pushed the needle into each of the vials and with the gentle application of pressure, my blood flowed in, and the vial turned from differing stages of green, yellow, or black to clear. I raised my eyebrow. He laid all of the vials back down where they had been, along with the syringe. I didn’t know what was in those vials, could have been anything, but I couldn’t dispute that a definite reaction had happened. 

And regardless of all else, he believed.

“If I may be honest?” He turned to me, and extended his hand out as if he wished me to place mine in his. I laid my hand out in the palm of his gloved one. “It has been several hundred years since I have been able to touch anyone who wasn’t dead, or destined to die.”

All I could do was swallow, and listen to him, let him speak.

“I had given up the idea that I was making any headway, that it was even possible.” His voice trailed off, eyes off of mine, looking off into the distance. I waited for him to speak again, but it never happened. Instead he turned to me and covered me. “The exam is over. They wanted me to have sex with you, but I fail to see how this pertains to my research.” His body was turned away from me. His arms clasped firmly behind his back. “I have your blood.”

It took a moment, but the relief turned into panic. My adrenaline rushed and my breathing increased, my fingers picked at my dry cuticles, the chipped nailpolish as I laid there still. I threw my body up and reached out to touch his arm, holding the flimsy blanket over my chest.

“Please..” I panicked, because if this didn’t go as it was supposed to, I wasn’t going to get to go home. I knew he couldn’t kill me, but if he didn’t comply, I didn’t get the chance to ever see the outside again. I made the choice then and there. Mission Monster Fucking was a go.

“Yes?” He turned back to me.

“You’re not in the slightest, interested?” The words were choked and my face was red, and any coyness I tried to lace my words with came off as shaken and scared. I looked at him as he stared at me, those cold blue eyes. His arms relaxed, he turned.

He took my hand in his and tilted his face slightly. “You consent to this?”

My mouth went dry. My head nodded and as I did I took his hand and placed my cheek in the palm of his gloved hand. I smelled the leather and the blood. I smelled the metallic smell, mixed with the sharp and woody scent of his glove. He went stiff, his arm no longer lax. I felt the hands turn back to claws, extending and stretching the leather out. His eyes turning red, the shadow of his hood back into the black miasma. The claw flexed, pressing into my cheek, down my neck, shoulder. It slowly pulled away the blanket, revealing my naked body on the table.

“You are fascinating to me,” He moved his mask close to me, and his voice was no longer clear. It was husky, breathy. “There were others like you, but time.. They would come to me, assist me, they loved me in a way. Did you feel it, too? Do you feel it now?” The entire time he was talking, he picked me up off the table. Carried bridal style I was taken off to a small cot in a corner. Remembering from the file earlier, he didn’t NEED to sleep or eat. That bed was in here so we could fuck on it.

There was a pillow and a white blanket, stiff, cotton. Smelled like bleach. He laid me down, gently, much more gently than I would have reasoned him capable of. Lovingly even. 

“I will not age. I will not die. I will not stop, rest, cease until I have found a cure. Along the way I have found others, raised the dead, and now. What will you give me, I wonder?” He stepped onto the bed, with his boots on, and with his hands parted my knees so he could rest between them. Kneeling, hands now on my bent kneecaps, his eyes were leaving trails of red and black as he turned his head back and forth regarding my body.

My mind screamed, ‘my body for my freedom’.

“Close your eyes and listen, use your body. You do not need your eyes.” He laid his hand over my eyelids, using a downward motion to close them, like you would the dead. As I did, I focused on the sensation of his pants against my inner thigh. He was wearing leather pants, as well as the coat, which was draped over my feet. “No harm will come to you.” 

His face came next to mine, the beak of his mask sliding along the crook of my neck. I heard breathing. Breaths muffled by the material of the mask. 

His weight rested on me and with a press of his hip I felt him between my legs. Hard. Warm. Slightly wet. Precum. He was excited. Or at least his body was. His claws over my breasts, the tips leaving trails of raised skin as they scratched. It hurt me, and I whimpered. He pulled away immediately. 

"I am sorry. It is such a privilege to feel you." Coarse and rough words came to me, the tip of a claw tucking my hair behind my ear. With another jut of his hips I felt him press at the entrance to me, wrapping my wrists with his hands. My hands turned into fists as he sunk deep inside of me. A quick retreat, another soft caress with the back of a claw as he murmured something to me in a language I couldn’t recognize. French perhaps? The words were soft and round, soothing and languid.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you are going through hell,  
> keep going.

“What are you staring at?” Valdence was swinging her leg back and forth as Agent G stood in front of her view into the monitors relaying the feed from the omni-camera in the containment cell.

Two guards were outside the containment cell, but in a separate location Valdence and Agent G, along with several other scientists, watched and recorded data as Swan and SCP-049 interacted.

“This isn’t right. It’s one thing to kill off a D-Class, whatever they’re chomos and degens, but this is one of your own that’s just been stripped of her status. And you’re okay with not only letting that thing in there have it’s way with her..” His voice trailed off, unable to speak the words about what both of them knew to be the eventual fate of the former Dr. Swan.

  
Agent G turned his head slightly to the sight of the hulking form of black leather coat and hood, back to the camera, only two pale legs sticking out from underneath, two small hands balled into fists peeking from around the sides of him. Valdence set down the pen she had been playing with and sighed.

“Do you want big boy clearance or do you wanna stick up for some woman you barely know because it bothers the little Jiminey Cricket voice in your head? You think looking out for some lost little lamb being thrown to the big bad monster is going to give your sick track record a redemption pass enough to let you sleep better at night?” She got right up in his face, so close they were nose to nose, centimeters between them. He smelled her citrus shampoo and the cotton starch in her shirt. He chuckled, the stern expression he’d had on like a mask, softening into warmth.

“It’s hot when you get mean, like a blonde viper.” His voice was low enough only the two of them could hear what he’d said, but after her eyes widened. He bowed his head and stepped back out of her way, letting her process what he’d just said to her.

Valdence picked up her pen and sat back down, smiling to herself.

\--

Swan’s hair was knotted underneath her head, her eyes shut tightly. Her breathing was erratic, and she had her hands tightly on the fabric of 049’s coat. It was definitely a leather, warm in the palm of her hand, soft on her fingertips. His voice was drifting into her ears.

“Mon coeur est un chemin privé, (My heart is a private road,)  
aucun chemin à travers, (no thoroughfare,)  
pas de lourdes, (no heavy loads,)  
pas d'histoires pour me faire mal. (no more stories to make me ache.)”

What he said came off slow, and sweet, like he was coaxing her to not be afraid, but she was afraid of him, she was afraid of what was happening, she was afraid of all of this. His body was pressed fully into hers, and she couldn’t stop squirming and clenching her jaw. She felt a million eyes watching and she knew she had to make it through this and she’d be closer to going home.

She was strangely sensitive to him, her exposed body tense, the slight pressure building in her core. He was barely moving inside of her, perhaps to be polite, perhaps he was unsure if she was enjoying herself.

The room was quiet, the air dry. She opened her eyes to see he had closed his as well. Sitting on top of her was a formidable monster, singing tenderly to her, bashful enough to close his eyes. As if to bring her back to the danger, his clawed hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her up, pushing himself deeper into her.

A moan settled in her mouth from the sudden movement, SCP-049’s red eyes opening to catch hers as she stared at him. A tsunami of embarrassment washed over her whole body.

“Ah..” Her voice began, but he shook his head and laughed himself.

“You’re not so innocent as you look.” His other hand took her other shoulder, the tips pressing into her shoulder blades, pushing her up into a sitting position.

He moved her like she was nothing to him, even in her embarrassment, in her stiffness, he guided her with ease. Using his arms, he grabbed her using the pads of his fingers and thumbs, to avoid drawing blood with his claws, and he used her body to pleasure himself.

Mercifully slow, he moved her up and down over him, letting her move her hips over the length of him inside of her, letting her rub her g-spot against the head of him. She hadn’t prepared herself to be bombarded with pleasure like this, to be used, in such a pleasant way.

Sounds flowed from her, sounds she didn’t even think she would feel comfortable making in the most private and secret places. Ahs and ohs and oh gods she had reserved for heights of release in her fantasies were happening.

“So good, yes, you’re doing so well.” His voice drifted into her ears as one of his hands released her shoulder and went to her head, wiping away sweat she hadn’t realized had accumulated on her brow. Her core was tense, her hips wildly bucking, trying to get more of the delicious pressure from him, but he was stronger than she was, he was in control, he was moving her to his whims. She pressed her arms and legs and hips, but she was powerless, only to respond to what he gave her.

In a moment of grace or compassion, Swan didn’t know or care which, he began to respond to her physical cues. When she pressed him down, he lifted his hips to press himself deep into her, the tip of him grinding against her cervix.

A wild moan and she buried her face into his chest. He was so powerful and the feeling was totally blinding, all-consuming. Hungry for release, her body reacting in a feral manner, untamed, she used her hands and fingers to grip him and move her hips against him.

“Don’t fucking move” She growled into his chest and he laughed, a soft rumble to her near incoherence in the frenzy to finish. She slid back and forth over him, driving herself closer to the edge.

“If you continue I will..” He couldn’t finish, she continued with no regard for him, moving faster now to let herself feel that final push into ecstasy. With a deafening roar, a sound so loud and jarring, it pulled her out of the primal drive to orgasm. He threw her down and with savage strength pinned her and fucked her so hard it nearly tore her in half.

She began to scream, half drowsy with her own ruined ecstasy, half with the blood-curdling fear of the thing on her trying to rip her in half from the inside.

“Please!” She tried to push him away, tears welling in her eyes, pooling in the corners, dripping down her temples into the knots of hair. “Oh god stop, you’re KILLING me!” She was frantic as his claws dug into her soft flesh, rivulets of red where they pierced her skin. The sweat stung her eyes, and all she could think of was how the smell of sex was being replaced with blood.

And then he stopped. A few seconds and he was off of her immediately. A blanket placed over her body. Her eyes were screwed shut, a ragged attempt at breathing, to hold back the tears.

“I will get them to come get you.” His voice was quiet, low. He walked away. In an attempt to pull herself together, she tried to sit up, open her eyes, but she couldn't move her body well.

She opened her eyes as he was walking away. All she registered was the furrowed brow as he looked back before she resigned herself to the sobs and the horrible ache in her lower abdomen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little hiatus. I needed some me time. But fear not, I wouldn't abandon you like that.
> 
> This chapter inspired by Deftones, actually most of Koi no Yokan. Which is a beautiful phrase. Seeing someone you know you will inevitably fall in love with.
> 
> Also shout out to ALL OF YOU LEAVING KUDOS AND COMMENTS, your support is fucking amazing. <3333

When he found me, I was still curled in a ball on the cot. The sheets smelled like bleach, but now there was blood and sweat, a sickening mixture of salt and iron. The pain in my pelvis would pass, it was a dull ache now. Reality was a dull ache. The fabric of the blanket was stiff and dense, offered no comfort in softness or warmth. Even the fake satin edging made no attempt to be cozy or inviting. It was just a facade of solace in fabric.

Firm hands on my shoulders. Agent G was standing over me.

“C’mon, the meds need you. Get up.” I saw my reflection in his glasses. Mussed hair and ruddy cheeks, glassy eyes. I looked feral and ruined, like some doll left outside too long. G had one gun pointed at SCP-049 as his figure stood in the corner. SCP-049’s arms were behind his back, his face staring at us, body unmoving. Agent G was taking no liberties and he kept the gun, and his eyes, aimed at the anomaly.

I felt like Bambi, my legs unresponsive, feet unbalanced and uncooperative. As I was pulled to my feet, a gush of warm fluid snaked down my inner thigh, to my knee, eventually making it to my ankle. I looked down to see that tendril of reddish fluid, the distinct smell of sex filling my nostrils, and embarassment colored my cheeks as I was pulled along.

I wanted to crumple, go limp in the crushing grip of the man in kevlar next to me, but I resisted. 

“Make it to the door, then you can collapse.” His voice was a rough command, he was basically dragging my weight. I felt the hot tears begin to well, the familiar tightness in my throat as I knew I was beginning to process what had happened. As we got to the door, the voice came, clear as ever.

“My apologies.” Was all I heard. Then the slam of metal. Agent G’s hand let go of me and I fell against the cool of the door. Three medics rushed over, the same three from before. 

\---

“She had vaginal bruising, tearing, she needed four stitches, bruising of the pelvis, and I can’t even begin to catalogue the psychological trauma. She was crying uncontrollably so we sedated her.. After which we ran a whole host of tests for infections, for pregnancy even. Negative. We took a swab of the ejaculate, but it was so muddied with her blood, it was basically unusable.” The lead medic was standing in Valdence’s office, recapping the exam they’d given.

The medic didn’t say it, but he thought of Swan lying on the table, half-lidded in a drugged out state. She was crying, but it wasn’t wailing like it had been. It was just soft sobs as they moved her about like a ragdoll. Years working as a paramedic, you saw these behaviors, but they never failed to instill a sense of helplessness and fear, a sympathetic pain for the suffering. Blood stains when you move her off the bed. The tears down her neck, pooling on her collar bones, in her hair. All tell-tale signs of trauma. 

Valdence was sitting behind her desk, facing away from the speaker. Agent G was standing at the door, along with another guard. The medic stopped and Valdence turned.

“Is that all? We got no usable sample from SCP-049?” Frustration laced her words, her red lacquered fingernails tapping erratically.

“No, it was..contaminated.” The medic backed down, unsure of reiterating the undesirable answer.

“Well, give her a week or so, and then we will send her in for further testing.” Valdence made a note on her clipboard, which was sitting on the desk, and went to dismiss the medic.

“She will need to be looked after in the meantime. Including therapy.” Best not to defend a D-Class, just keep it professional.

“Fine whatever. Also start a plan for how to obtain the sample. Include her in the process.” Valdence dismissed all of them from the room, and turned back to the monitor she’d paused. She rewatched as the SCP’s behavior turned on a dime. As it nearly tore Swan in half. The tap of her nails slowed as she rolled the idea around in her head. It sounded cruel, and maybe it was, but what good was an immune D-Class, if she was unusable? 

\---

“Jesus Christ V, you’re fucking cold.” Agent G had a cylinder of amber liquid in his hand, the square fingers wrapped around the glass. The room was dark and quiet. Everyone had gone home for the night. The only lighted one was the one on her desk. It illuminated two glasses and a decanter full of an amber liquid. “We WATCHED her get destroyed by that thing, and you’re still gonna send her back in?”

“I know what needs to be done, and I have the balls to do it.” She leaned extra hard on the word balls, while eyeing him. She downed what little was in her own glass.

“You don’t ever wonder?” His question was left ambiguous intentionally to provoke a moral introspection toward the nature of her decisions. “Cause one day--”

She put her finger over his mouth and shook her head. 

“No, I don’t get paid to wonder. And wondering doesn’t help me sleep better at night.” Her voice was annoyed as she sat back in her chair and rocked back and forth. Her signature Louboutins were strewn on their sides somewhere under the desk. Her stockings, the ones with the line down the back of her calves and thighs, showed the pedicure the same red as her shoes. 

“I hate to do that thing I know you hate, but..” He paused to take a swig of the last of his liquid, setting the glass down on her desk. His chair was not as plush as hers. And his figure loomed over the small size. He was all broad shoulders and chest, but his sunglasses were on the desk and not his face.

“Ugh.” She interjected, rolling her eyes. He licked his lips and inhaled as he made sure she was looking at him. Agent G had grey, tired eyes. Crow’s feet and a light scarring cross his right eyebrow. He looked haggard in the low light, not tough, just tired. Valdence softened as she waited for his argument.

“V, you DO get paid to wonder. And wonder you do well, but you are a vicious bitch, and lemme tell you that is gonna bite you in the ass. And it won’t always be my teeth in that beautiful ass. There’s shit bigger, meaner, and nastier than me here.” And with that he put his hands up, while she laughed at him.

“It will be a cold day in hell when I take advice from a meathead like you.” She scoffed, continuing to laugh at him as she played with her empty glass. She had been looking into his gunmetal eyes, but the truth he was speaking was too much for her. The glass would not tell her things she did not wish to hear, so her focus went into it instead.

“It’s your funeral.” He finished, crossing his arms. He stood up, getting ready to leave, but as he went to grab his glasses, she put her hand over his.

“Stay a little while longer, please.” Her voice was low and slow, and he smiled. He liked it when she was soft and polite with him, it meant she wanted him to fuck her and he loved to be close to her.

\--

NOCTUS SECURITY INFORMATION TERMINAL #2236  
USERID: GG-4709327  
CLEARANCE: UNLOCKED

MESSAGE WAITING...PROCEED TO INBOX? Y/N?  
Y

SENT FROM: VALDENCE, REDQUEEN.

All your hopes and dreams.  
[ATTACHED .JPG FILE] DOWNLOAD? Y/N?  
Y..and boom, a video of his pasty white ass bent over her desk, a splay of blonde underneath him those perfectly manicured fingernails putting dents in him exactly where she wanted to. She always sent him these little souvenirs to remind him that she owned his ass. Metaphorically and otherwise. 

He smelled like sweat and her perfume. And he knew he’d have welts on his back, and ass, from her claws. She liked it rough and man did she know how to take it. He smirked as he signed out.

\--

Swan was lying in the bathtub in her psuedo-hotel room. Given a prescription for xanax and for ambien, she took both with a big glass of water and drew a scalding hot bath. She turned off the lights and silently thanked the mirror for fogging so quickly. Letting her feet dip under the waterline, allowing her skin time to adjust to the heat, she quickly slid down so all of her up to her nose was immersed in the water. 

And she just laid there, quietly, as still as possible. The water became calm and she felt the violent pound of her heart as her body worked against the heat she was feeling. Sweat dripping down her hairline, into her eyes. She knew what sweat and tears tasted like. Each hot and bitter all their own. Using her palms she pushed herself up slowly, her hair pasted to her neck and decolletage.

She didn’t feel her body so much, and the water gave her a sense of weightlessness, and the heat served a double purpose, to soothe and calm, and also the get her blood pumping faster so the medicine would work quicker. It was working, the liquid jellyfish sort of feeling of stillness. The normal vibration of her body was missing, but she didn’t care.

After getting out, she wrapped the stiff towel around her head and another around her body. The steam came off her body and she imagined herself, some creature arising from a volcano, the heat so intense it instantly evaporated. Out on the desk where her food was left, was a manilla folder with a tab. On the tab was a sticker that stated, “SCP-049 TESTING”.

Sitting down, she flipped it open and perused the sheets of paper. Scribbles, notes, post-its, but also forms that were filled out, no doubt, for other SCP’s as well. She closed the file, but not before reading the words ‘biological compatibility with human for reproduction?’ the box was as of yet, unchecked. Her pelvis still ached. Little droplets of water puckered the paper as she fingered the edges. In a drowsy fit she pushed it all to the floor. Moving to the bed, she pulled back the comforter and wrapped it around herself, lying in a burrito on the bed. She was asleep instantly, but she was not dreamless.

\--

SCP-049’s containment cell only had one guard on it during the hours of 2200-0800. He was on special duty, to check in every fifteen minutes, and log it.

CONTAINMENT HALLWAY SECURITY HANDHELD  
USERNAME: GG-387262  
SCP-049 OBSERVATION LOG.  
FREQUENCY EVERY QUARTER HOUR BEGINNING 2200.

2200: D-Class sitting in chamber with SCP, they’re talking. The D-Class is horrified, but SCP is maintaining distance and pacing.  
2215: Still talking, although SCP is moving closer. D-Class has relaxed.  
2230: She’s dead now, on the table. SCP obscuring view of body. No screaming, or signs of a struggle.  
2245: Body of D-Class is being dismembered.

A hassle, but the thing had deliberately disobeyed orders and posed a threat to the Foundation employees. He was generally well behaved, but as of lately had become unpredictable.

A low hum, was resonating in the hallway where the guard was watching. A haunting sound as it moved through the bare concrete. A voice, a strong and deep voice, well-versed and patient, chanting something? The guard moved to the door to see SCP-049 standing beside the body, singing. 

2300: SCP-049 is serenading his D-Class corpse.

\---

“While I work I will tell you a story.” His voice was soft now, as it was when he spoke to her. Her. Who was she? He did not know, but he knew he needed to find a cure. They were all infected, and the pestilence was growing. Gathering more in it’s vile clutches. But her, she was blessedly free.

“The buildings in the village were built tall, vertical. Much like your skyscrapers. But they were far more modest. White with dark wood detailing. Elaborate cottages. And windows with panes, so many windows to let in light and air. The streets lined with brick. The whole world sounded and smelled differently. Like dirt and sunshine. Sometimes fire or bread. Cooking meat. Laughter and talking carried because there was a placidity that your time lacks.” His hands moved over the pallid skin of the corpse beneath him. His gloved, leather fingers traversing her wrecked sternum where she had been pried open. He didn’t need a ribcracker, he just used his own brute strength to reveal what was kept hidden and protected behind the bone shielding. He was removing the organs, reapplying some sort of salve over his hands to keep them from being soiled by her vicera.  
“Our hygiene was nothing like what we have now. Barbaric. Shit and piss in the streets, children running amuck in filth. Flies, buzzing constantly from the animal excrement and stagnant water. From the human excrement sitting in buckets, thrown out windows, dripping down walls and windows. From the rudimentary burials and medicinal practices. Dead bodies in carts in alleys next to food. It is no wonder, humanity was taken by the rats and flies.” His fingers moved deftly, removing each organ, inspecting them, sometimes cutting a piece off, setting it aside, or back in her.

“When the plague hit, we had no medicine. We called the priests, we huddled in churches, in taverns, wherever we could, but the more we kept together, the worse it got. Bodies in piles we couldn’t burn fast enough. Dogs feasted, and became ill, spreading it on their fleas. No one was safe. 

“But then we heard tales of, masked men, who would come and take care of you if you became too ill. They would lance your wounds, keep watch, and they remained unaffected. They sometimes came in groups. Sometimes alone. But they always came cloaked in black leather, a mask over their face, and a strange, but pleasant smell. So I sought them out, the villagers all thought me mad for leaving, but what chance did we stand of surviving huddled in our homes like the very rats that killed us?”

“Into the cities I went, and sure enough I came across them. Plague Doctors they were called. And they carried long sticks, which I came to understand was a multipurpose tool. But they went about offering their services, for a price.

“It was not so difficult to indoctrinate myself into their group. They often lost their own to the illness, leaving a mask and cloak behind. I simply picked up a mantle left behind by another. But while they died, I did not. I do not remember much, except what I learned from my peers, and going back to my village to find them all piled in a hole, some rotting, some mummified, but all of them dead.” 

“It is important, we find a cure. To prevent this from spreading further. I am only here, to have access to the best. And once I find what I need, I will leave.” He pushed her body, mangled beyond recognition, into the same trashcan from earlier. A heavy sigh filled him as he remembered what it felt like to be like her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's my party 
> 
> and I'll blahblah  
> if I want  
> if I want  
> if I want  
> believable monster fucking.

Swan was sitting in a chair in her room, knees pressed against her chest, chin resting on her kneecaps. The blanket was draped around her, and she was reading over the Directive Dossier for Interaction Protocol with SCP-049.

Given both a tablet, and a manilla envelope with the brass clasps to keep the many pages of the document in place, she was at her small table with a cup of coffee next to her. The tendrils of steam still wafted up into the air as she was lost in her own world of information.

She had been reclassified as DC-29457. It hurt her to see that keycard, with her eyes bruised with the sleeplessness, her hair knotted and tangled, and her skin red and irritated from all the crying she’d been doing. She tucked the card away in her pants pocket so she didn’t have to stare at the harsh truth laminated in plastic.

Letting go of the notion that her life would be altered forever by signing the contract to begin her work was one thing, but this forced metamorphosis into the lesser of the Foundation’s population was damn near too much. Her face was still raw from all the salty tears and rubbing, but there was little she could do about it.

The upside was, now with this keycard snuggled in her stiff pants pocket, she was free to come and go about the facility, with a guard in tow of course. A privilege most D-Class were denied, which she would fully use to her advantage. Even if it was just to keep herself pre-occupied, distracted from the fact she was a biological breeding vessel for an unknown.

‘Breeding vessel.’ the phrase roamed in her brain, like a lost pet, looking for a home to settle back into. A familiar spot to nestle in, but all it did was dig a hole deep in some soft spot, leaving Swan unsettled and hurt.

Knocking to let the guard outside know she was about to exit, she timidly opened the door. A faceless hardbody with a gun on his side. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Agent G, but he still had a presence about him that said toxic masculinity and no bullshit taken. Most of them did, those years of ingrained societal conditioning. Money and power lead them all down a path toward their truest form, an emotionally-devoid thug with firepower.

He didn’t say a word, just stepped aside as she walked past the threshold. Swan moved down the hallway, her soft shoes making nearly no sound in contrast the deafening thud of the boots behind her.

It should have felt safer, but did nothing of the sort. Was it her heartbeat? What was deafening? She tried to focus in on how her feet hit the concrete of the hallway, heel first followed by the ball of her foot, but all she heard was the rubber-soled death march toward inevitability. The death of freedom and choice and whatever shred of normality she had been holding onto.

She wandered down the corridors, through the nearly endless collection of doors and bolts and steel and concrete. What was behind each door, was a caged fate. A harbinger of some unknown that lay in wait to unleash the future on an unsuspecting interloper with enough hubris to think they could control it, keep it locked away. Was she not one of those interlopers who fell prey to their own conceit? To believe a soulless entity like the Foundation would protect her, that if she kept her head down, and made herself so small in the scheme of all else, she would go unnoticed?

Her feet stopped at the steel door etched SCP-049. She stood a fair distance from the door, trying to sort through how she felt.

SCP-049’s size nor strength was not what wrought terror from the depths of her mind, it was not what triggered those deep red bells. It was his single-minded pursuit which could not be persuaded. If he wanted to cure, he would cure. If you had the pestilence, you had it. No amount of please or thank you would change that. A closed mind was one of the worst things intelligence could have. Possibility is what gave way to hope and to change, it was the trailblazer.

The bodies of countless other D-Class subjects, she wondered how many of them had crossed the threshold she was standing at. Her chest was tight, breathing almost impossible. How had she so easily walked in and out, before? Had she become so numb to the atrocity of what went on in this cell, that she had denied it? Her heart was racing now, her blood pressure rising. She heard it pounding in her ears. She wondered if he would hear it too.

Her body was tensing and shivering, jaw sore from clenching. The guard that accompanied her planted himself next to the other kevlar-donned hardbody stationed across from the containment unit. Swan went to press the keycard up to the security pad, but pulled away. No intrusions, no. Just because she could come and go, didn’t mean she wanted to violate anyone’s autonomy with the privilege. Instead she peered in through the small window. The memory of the first time she saw him. His huge visage taking up so much space.

“Swan.” His voice bellowed, but the anger she heard was just a subconscious projection. She screamed and jumped back, triggering both the guards to stand at attention and bring their weapons forward. She exhaled purposefully through her mouth in an attempt to regulate her heart rate. Adrenaline had spiked, her nerves were on edge. One of the guards chuckled.

“We were given explicit orders, if he steps out of line, he gets the collar.” She turned just in time to see the man smirked as he held up a large, thick, locking collar. It had two long metal handles attached to each side, extension restraints, presumably to corral him from a distance. He swung it in his hand, the sound of metal hitting itself, a sinister sound in her ears. Swan rolled her eyes at the blatant and grotesque display of power they thought they wielded. It was a facade, like all ideas of control. An illusion forged in metal.

They thought the shock could kill him and that's why he was a model prisoner. But Swan suspected it was not so simple as it appeared. Surface simplicity gave way to deep complexity. She knew better than to trust the collar. No one had ever shocked him, let alone gotten the collar on.

_“Yes, but I have given you no reason to collar me. Do you even know if it would hold me?"_

The **voice** in her imagination was the same one that said her name. His shadowed figure overtaking her as it moved smoothly toward her, no sign of up or down in his steps, just a forward motion.

“Did you bring your medicine?” The deep voice came once again. A cold, hard shiver rolled over Swan, her body reacting instinctively to his call to her.

Her nipples hardened, and she wanted to deny it, but a part of her longed to feel him again. Flashes of curiosity driving her thoughts into places she felt shame acknowledging.

His hands on her, the smell of leather.

On her face, running up the sides of her bare torso.

Those eyes, icy, the shadow that burned behind his hood, his mask.

Her stomach turned, as the familiar ache she felt in her abdomen, from how rough he had been with her. Where the stitches held her together, where she had been torn apart.

But the pain had become a strange comfort, a sort of company she kept while she healed. Logically, she could tell herself it was Stockholm, but her body was practically afire being close to him. Humiliating and shameful. To respond like she did! But what an advantage, to respond positively. A small blessing? Less dissonance to sort through in her aftermath. A shield, against whatever was coming her way.

“Come in, we have much to discuss.” He did not turn toward the door as she stood outside, but waited patiently until she pressed her keycard into the magnetic pad, to unlock the door.

All the containment units had heavy steel doors, controlled by a central processing unit, but could be controlled individually either by manual input on the keypad itself, or accessed for entry or exit via keycard, not unlike a hotel keycard.

As the mechanics of the door worked, she listened to the beams that fell down into place, to reinforce the door, raised, a slow sort of hum or vibration, the sound of metal sliding against metal. This sound was, soothing. As if the weight of her own confinement was being lifted away. It moved on its own, a magic of technology, and standing before her eyes, was all six feet three inches of him, one gloved hand extended. “Thank you for accepting my invitation, given the circumstances.” He bowed down, keeping his head facing the ground. She knew he wanted her to touch him, and she had to consciously reach out for him.

“Go on MF, he wants you.” A voice cut through the reverie between Swan and the SCP, trying to deter her, but tunnel vision set in. She looked at his palm, upturned, the curve of his hand, the position of his fingers. Fingers, not claws. With a precise movement, she stepped forward and grabbed him. As she stepped into the cell, the door shut slowly behind her.

Inside his containment cell, it was tidy. There was a body on the steel table, but now there was an opaque curtain that could be opened and closed. Off in one corner, near where aprons, gloves, and masks were kept was a small table with two chairs, and a small assortment of non-perishables such as various teas, as well as coffee. The cot had been replaced with an actual bed, which implied more than Swan was ready to accept. The same stench of bleach and cleaners filled her nose, a sterile smell. He placed a sheet over the body and pulled the curtain closed.

SCP-049 stepped into her field of view, blocking her line of sight to the bed.

“We have been placed into a rather tricky situation.” He began, softly, gesturing to the table. She sighed and walked over, pulling out one of the chairs. He walked over, but did not sit.

“Yeah.” Her voice remained small, smaller than she had meant for it to. He stared at her for a moment, unblinking. She looked at him in the eyes, those icy blue eyes, hidden under the material of the mask, set so far back into the black depths. His furrows projecting disdain, but she didn’t feel it so much, she felt, a gentle inquiry. “Have you read the dossier yet?” She did her best to fill the silence. He stood on his side of the table, resting his arms behind his back as he often did.

“No. I don’t need to. Their motives have been clear to me from the beginning of my time here.” He spoke clearly, evenly. No emotion betrayed by any word, tone, or choice of phrase.

“Oh.” Swan replied flatly. Looked like she was the only one with trepidations about how to move forward. She let herself process for a few seconds, then leaned forward. “So..you don’t care, or?” Her voice edged toward frustration.

SCP-049 cocked his head at her, then moved toward the chair, and before he sat down he parted his cloak, revealing black leather pants and black leather boots. As he sat, she almost laughed at how small the chair seemed in comparison to him. He dwarfed almost everything.

He waited, in silence, for several more moments.

“We were never properly introduced--” He started, but Swan interrupted before he could finish.

“Answer my question, please.” The nicety was tacked on as an afterthought. She watched as the fingers of his hand extended into claws as he rapt them on the table. Swan noted that he had slightly more control over his form than he let on. She leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

“..I suppose not.” Was what came to life after more silence. He remained completely unmoved, unperturbed. Swan’s head flooded with thoughts and feelings, overwhelming. What fate came for her, with a creature so removed from emotion? She stood no chance.

Swan stood up, her cheeks flushed, tears threatening to spill. Her throat tightening, into that tell-tale lump that was a prelude to crying. She pushed past him, toward the door. SCP-049 made no attempt to stop her. She wanted him to, to reach out, or to at least offer her kind words, but nothing. He simply sat where he was left. His knees nearly up to his chest in the too small chair.

“Fine then.” She huffed as she reached her keycard toward the door, but before she could, she felt a presence behind her, a gloved hand around her wrist. The beak of his mask pressed into the crook of her neck, the tip pointed down, causing a dent in the thin skin.

“When will you realize?” his voice was heavy in her ear, so close, “I don’t care.” Her skin rippled with the heat of him. “Not about you, not about The Foundation, not about the dossier. Swan, all I care about is finding a sustainable cure, and if you can help me do so, then we should both accept the only way out is through.” Her hand was released, but before she could turn he was back at his exam table, the only evidence of him going back to it was the rustle of the curtain as it settled.

She stood, facing the door, debating if she should go confront him, or if she should just leave. Her adrenaline was rushing and she was swimming in all sorts of chemicals. She bit her lip, she knew it was not going to help either of them to leave now. Not with her all worked up and with him immersed wholly in his work.

Slipping the keycard into her pants pocket she walked over to the curtain and stood outside gathering the nerve to announce herself.

“I’m sorry.” The words were choked. “I, uh, this is not easy for me. None of it.” She explained, and then stopped. Apologies do not warrant explanations, apologies are for those who are wronged. As much as Swan felt wronged, she lashed out at the wrong party for that. And she now knew he didn’t care, so this entire exercise was futile and self-serving. Her breathing became shallow.

“Take a deep breath, Swan.” His voice was quiet now. Softer like it was earlier. “You are in anguish, in pain. There is no reason to fear.” He did his best to reassure and soothe, from behind the thick, rubber curtain. Swan was standing outside with her arms crossed, inhaling through her nose, out through her mouth as silent tears slid down her cheeks. Plop, on the shirt, plop, on the floor.

“There is no reason to fear.” He came out from behind the curtain. He looked down at her. “Trust me, I am a doctor.” His words were deadpan and serious, but Swan burst out laughing. Wiping the tears away with her sleeves, the laughter died down into a few small giggles. “I do not understand what is funny about that.” He did not move, his voice remained neutral.

Swan was trying to stop laughing, but every time she looked at him, she began to laugh again.

“It’s a pop culture reference.”

He stood, with his arms behind his back for a moment, then turned his head at her, in what she took as a gesture of confusion.

Laughter. How long had it been since he’d heard that? Not the laughter of finality or pain, but honest laughter? She didn’t know why, but it was coming from her. He waited until she composed herself.

“I have some proposals I’d like to discuss, but while we work,” he stood up to his full height and looked back at the table. “If it does not upset you. We may sit at the table I requested, otherwise.”

Swan rubbed her hands together, wringing them. She felt the tension in her jaw and shoulders.

“No, no. We can go to the body.”

“Good, I hoped you’d feel up to it. You’ve been melancholy as of late.” He had his back to her, but she heard him clearly. It still boggled her mind how he did that.

“Sad?” She repeated back to him for clarification.

“Something of that nature yes.” He held the curtain back for her. She grabbed a mask and gloves, but didn’t bother with the apron. She would just stand by him and talk, she was not feeling up to playing with a dead body. He pulled the bag from his cloak and set it down on a smaller side table, then opened it and applied a salve. “I’ll be straightforward,” He began, slicing down her sternum with a scalpel, “our genetics are not compatible. No matter what they do, you will not be able to be impregnated by me.” Blood was welling along the line he cut and spilling out over the naked skin of the body. “That being said, the Foundation will think otherwise and continue to provoke a reaction from me so that they may test.” He peeled away the skin with short strokes of the knife, pulling the skin as he went. The flesh underneath reminded her of raw chicken. It was covered in a translucent film of some kind, veins zig-zagging. “I am removing the skin and subcutaneous fat.” He stopped and looked at her briefly, to assess if she was within the bounds of comfort.

A tension, of some kind, was beginning in her stomach. A churning. An uncomfortable nausea had settled in as he nonchalantly played with the body beneath his hands. Pulling the skin away as if it were fabric. Handling this human body like it was nothing more than like folding laundry, not a person or sentience and life, as it once had been. The weight of her breasts, along with the fact skin had been cut away from the muscle caused them to sag down onto the table in an unnatural manner. He had cut from her groin to her throat, and where the skin was pulled back, it gathered and crumbled, the tubing of the lower intestinal tract threatening to spill over.  
It was much brighter pink that she had imagined. With other examinations, she had made it a point not to watch, but now she had no reason not to look. She needed to show herself exactly what she was dealing with.

“I’m going to remove the breastplate. If you are squeamish, I suggest you turn away.”

“Wha--” Swan didn’t have time to ask for clarification before his hands turned back into claws and dived into the muscle of the ribcage. With a sound she had not heard before, ripped the ribcage open using his bare hands. Like cracking a nut, or stepping on dried leaves, but deeper and cleaner.

Swan hadn’t anticipated that sound to call forth such a primal fear. A gasp left her as she stepped back. Like being slapped across the face, but right in the stomach, deep inside of her.

“Normally they would cut along each side of the ribcage and remove the top, like a lid to a pot, but since I am permitted nothing resembling weaponry, I must use what I have.” Without looking at her, he held up his clawed hand, covered in bits of viscera and blood.

“Your bag..” She blurted. He stopped and turned to her, hands at his side.

“What of it?”

“Is it not considered a weapon? By The Foundation?”

“Anything they cannot control or understand is a weapon.” He sighed. “Have you ever seen an angel?” He was cutting away at the kidneys, holding the dark red organ in his hand, then placing it back in the body.

“..no. have you?”  
“By many, I have been seen as death, but I have met with death. We have talked, but I wonder if they would understand what I am telling you. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

“No, and I am." Pause, deep breath, "I am not processing all of this very well.”

All he did was point to the table. She went and sat down, and heard running water. He slid the body into the barrel, where the ones who weren’t viable went, and she listened as his footsteps moved closer to her.

“Close your eyes.” He commanded, firmly. She swallowed hard, but did what she was told. “Now tell me what is happening inside of you.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. It should have been intimidating, but the weight of him was comforting, soothing. She hadn’t had contact in weeks and she had been through hell. “Tell me what you are experiencing.” Her cheek touched the back of his hands the leather still wet and warm with blood.

“Anxiety. Fear. Paranoia.” She was picking at the cuticle on her fingernails. Using the pad of her fingers to move along the nail to search for imperfections to pick at.

“Good, now explain each of those to me.”

“You. Your claws. No way of knowing what you know or how you will be. I am fragile, I will break. I do not know if I will make it out of any of this.”

Claws, those same claws she just spoke of, dug into her shoulders. She cried out in pain as they pierced the skin.

“You’ve made it this far, why not finish it?” A tendril of her hair moved, scrapped by her cheek. “You will not come to harm by my hand, not willingly.” He pulled away and Swan’s hands went straight to her shoulders. “I cannot make promises for the puppeteers.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mea culpa 
> 
> most of us would translate mea culpa as my fault, but technically it means "I am guilty" (hot, let's be real, I'm guilt AF), but in Classical Latin it means "I am sinful" (EXTRA HOT). 
> 
> I am guilty of loving someone fully, with out limitations, remorse, or bounds.

Agent quarters were on site. Newer agents slept in barracks, but a handful kept private rooms. The ones in charge who survived past the grueling months of overnight watch and evac procedures, the ones who dealt with inferior command, and the ones who outwitted their subjugated captives that lashed out in boredom or instinctual response.

Agent G had been around much longer than most, not that he could have kept track. Between the masks and the rotations that were erratic and impossible to follow, you become mindful of yourself rather than others. Not careless, just you pay as much attention to their comings and goings as you do the SCPs. Threat Assement, not friendship.

He was doing pull ups on the bar he had between the sleeping quarters and bathroom.

One, two, three. He kept his thoughts on his form. Engaging his core, on how many he had done yesterday morning. He also let a few quick thoughts of Valdence’s perky tits reinvigorate him when he felt his shoulders and lats tiring. It sent an electric jolt of testosterone through his body. Four, five, six.. He dropped down after twenty. A nice warm up.

He hadn’t slept well, tossed and turned. He didn’t feel comfortable or safe where he was. He never did, actually. Peeling off the black sleeveless undershirt he turned on the shower.

But before he could step in, the power went out.

\--

Valdence pulled her cashmere sweater, the grey one in the batwing style, out of the closet. It was soft, comfortable, and flattering. Her skin-tight black pants, and signature Louboutin red soled pumps lying tossed aside waiting for her feet to don them before her inevitable departure. The full-length cheval mirror, mounted in black metal, pivoted back to let her assess how the sweater looked before she committed to it.

Running this place required a regiment all its own. Without that walking dick to keep her distracted in a pleasurable manner, she’d have gone off the rails. Even with the plethora of pharmaceuticals available to her on a whim, liquor and other such. There was no chemical cocktail that was the equivalent of a good dicking from a man with a rock-hard six pack. A machine in muscle, that groaned so deliciously when he came.

She glanced in the mirror, her peachy skin and flaxen hair, impeccable. An image popped up on the mirror’s surface,

GG-275849 CALL ACCEPT? Y/N?  
With a snarl and a flick of her manicured finger she pressed Y.

“Yes?” She snapped curtly. She was dressed in her favorite black lace Agent Provocateur set, and was completely nonplussed answering the vid-call in such a state. The agent calling immediately set his eyes down as she folded the sweater over her arm, revealing her bare skin and lingerie.

“DC-29457 has requested a meeting.”

“So? Since when are we letting D-Class call the shots? I really hope for your sake, this is not the reason you bothered me.” The sweater slipped on over her body and sat there like silk. She twisted and looked at herself in the mirror, running her fingers over the fabric of the sweater, and the curves of her body.

“She has a proposal, and we think it is best if you hear it for yourself.” The Agent was used to holding the gaze of his superior, to keeping his eyes on whatever potential threat, but looking down was submissive, and she could sense his unease in the tone of his voice.

“Just tell me what it is already. You’re ruining my morning.” Just as she was about to lecture him on respect, the screen disappeared and she sighed. The room went entirely dark. A computer voice came on.

"PeTuLaNt AnD SpOiLeD. FoLLoW tHe LeAd GiVeN.”

Valdence rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The lights came back on, and the vid screen reappeared. She sighed and leaned in closer to the mirror to fix her hair, ignoring the agent entirely, taking a curl and using her nail to twirl it.

“I have orders to follow this lead. Arrange the meeting and report back.” After ending her sentence she stood back up and shoved the mirror so the reflective surface faced the ceiling of the room, dismissing the agent.

Walking over to her vanity she sat down and tilted her head, rolling it on her neck, to try and release some of the tension she had been holding.

“You really pissed off The Upper Management, didn’t you?” Agent G was leaning against her door frame.

The door, and the entirety of the walls including the one the door was attached to, were made of steel reinforced concrete, but the door itself was tungsten carbide. Her room was impenetrable, unless she wanted you in it.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” She pivoted in the chair and faced him.

“Oh I was in the middle of my morning routine when the power went out. UP said I needed to come get you to go to a mandatory meeting. Standard disembodied voice bossing me around. I thought it was you, until I was given the access code to your room.” He had been leaning on the door, which normally took several minutes to open. He stood straight up and walked over, while she was still seated at her vanity. “You’d never trust me with that.” He used his gloved hand to touch her chin and position her head up, while leaning down and moving his face down toward her.

“Perceptive” She cooed as she rubbed her face on his, leaving a streak of her powdery foundation on his jawline. “I wonder how unquestioningly you trust the UP. Why you didn’t think this was a test or a trap.” She stood up and sauntered out, grabbing her clipboard as she left the room.

Agent G didn’t like not fully knowing what was going on, but he knew better than to disobey that which controlled all around him. Even Valdence wouldn’t be that wreckless.

\---

Swan was sitting at the table, while 049 was at his table. Her body was still tense, but she'd taken a xanax to keep her level. Disconnect from the panic a bit, which had been running absolutely rampant. SCP-049 had actually come over and asked her for the vial she kept them in, and handed her a glass of water to take it with.

When six feet of leather tells you to take your medicine, it's hard to say no.

So she was sitting in the chair, trying not to lose her shit. She was practically vibrating with feelings, but nowhere to put them. The tension in her sternum had all but melted away, and the softness of her body gave way to her natural curiosity.

“Doctor?” Fuck it. She had questions.

“Mm, yes?” He answered after a few moments, rather absently, the sounds of squelching and crunching causing Swan to retreat back into herself emotionally. He moved around a body like Swan would answer a text on her phone. So casually, and it was unnerving, but if she had existed for hundreds of years, perhaps it would become a casual act. Was that normal?

“Ah, I have questions I’d like to ask.” She forced the words out, quickly. She was running the pad of her index finger over the nail of her thumb in a soothing motion.

“Don’t we all?” He chided as the sounds of the body being dissected, quieted down.

“You asked me if I’d ever seen an angel..” Swan kept picturing those stained glass windows from her childhood. All those images of women with lithe bodies and men in shining armor, both with huge feathered white wings. “What did you mean?”

The silence that followed almost ate her alive. Why did it always feel like an eternity before he answered? She wondered if he even would, but finally he moved behind the curtain.

“I do not believe in God, Swan, if that is what you are asking. My morality lies beyond my intelligence and the cognition of most.” His voice was stiff now. Swan wondered why this subject was so tender to him.

“You brought up angels, not me.”

“I used it to make a point. Devil or angel, what do the differences matter? They are both complicated and convoluted subjects that we use to aid our vision or mission.” He was rummaging in his bag, the sound of metal on metal as he sorted through what she assumed were tools for this autopsy.

“Would you..” The words died on her tongue and she rearranged them a bit, “What if I was killed? Would you pick me apart like that woman on the table now?” She urged herself forward. It was a question that peeled back her own emotional armor and made her vulnerable to his answer. She tried to let go of the expectation of protection or favorable bias, but she knew he was dedicated to one cause and one cause only. The cure. The entire exercise was a sort of desensitization to his cold detachment.

The plastic of the curtain was thrown back. Her adrenaline rushed as she stared down at her feet in the canvas shoes given to her. His boots thudded, thundered in her ears like the rush of blood. It stopped several feet away from the table, the rustle of his leather.

“Look at me Swan.” His voice was the final boom, she jumped as it registered. The sound of liquid falling onto the cold concrete of the containment chamber. Her eyes moved, slowly, as she concentrated on her body and forcing it to move. With a deep breath, she looked up at him, her eyes wanting to go to the icy and stark white of his mask, but the red in his palm stole her attention instead.

A heart, a heart dripping rivulets of thick, congealed blood, which dropped into heavy pools by his shoes. Down his arm, in between the fingers of his hand. It snaked down the folds of the leather, disappearing down his sleeve.

“What difference do our answers make? Would any of our righteousness or kindness matter? Does your confidence lie in this? Do you imagine your suffering will be any less because you loved goodness and truth?” With the finishing of his words, he turned his hand to a claw and crushed the small lump of muscle into his fist, and then dropped the misshapen mound of flesh on the table in front of her. “Do you believe that in this hunk of tissue holds all the love of that person? Do you think it cruel of me to so carelessly fondle and defile this once lively vessel?” With that last sentence he leaned in and dragged the broken heart closer to Swan as she shied away. The trail of blood uneven as he practically USED the heart as a paintbrush. “There is no point to any of this, so what does it matter if any of it make sense or not?”

Swan took a moment. His claw was deep in the tissue of it, creating a dent. If she hadn’t studied anatomy, she’d have never known what it was, but that made the exchange even more sinister. That he chose the human heart. Hers hadn’t stopped pounding, but that didn’t mean her fear wasn’t about to turn into rage and indignation. Anger is a secondary emotion, and she knew the roiling in her chest and jaw was at a breaking point. She had been bullied quite enough.

“That’s cruel and you know it.” All that anger exploded in her. She had hot tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t care. She had stuffed all her rage and powerlessness so far down, but the xanax had lowered her guard and inhibitions enough for her to fight back. “Yeah maybe it’s selfish to want to be loved by all! AT LEAST I CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO LIFE.” She stood up, her body vibrating with her anger, her voice carrying more volume as the pitch went shrill and hoarse. Hysterical sobs took over her body as she took her hand and slapped the destroyed heart off the table. Landing by his feet he bent down and picked it up, cupping it gently. “You are NEVER going to cure ANYTHING because you’re FUCKING INSANE.” She was screaming in between wet hiccups from the table now, and he had gone behind the curtain. “FUCKING COWARD THAT’S RIGHT JUST GO BACK TO YOUR STUPID LITTLE MUTILATION PROJECT, I am sick and tired of everyone thinking you’re invincible, like you’re some god they have locked away when you’re some punk behind a mask who doesn’t know how to fucking show any shred of respect for anyone else’s feelings!”

SCP-049 moved back to behind the curtain. Swan felt a smugness in having acted out her tantrum, but what happened next she could not have prepared herself for.

From behind the curtain strange, guttural sounds emerged. Bones cracking, flesh squelching, and a low, pained moaning. She stood up in her chair immediately, knocking it to the ground. The table was in the far back of the room. In order to get to the door she needed to pass his exam table. Her body wouldn’t move, no matter how much her mind begged it to, to go to the door.

“You think I care so little for life, but I have perfected the cure, Swan.” The curtains drew back, to show the woman whose heart he had taken out. Her chest crudely sewn back together, the flesh of her neck connected to the y-incision that had laid open her chest cavity with thick, black sutures. “She is cured, and I have brought her back to life.” A languid arm raised from the table. The flesh had been stripped, and the fingers were blue-grey. Swan watched as the figure clumsily fingered at the sutures, trying to maintain it’s once graceful and fluid mobility and dexterity, but now a clumsy and oafish gesture. The sound coming from her throat was not human, nor was it coherent. More of a thick, fluid groan. The eyes were milky, drained of color. “She will not suffer, nor will she needlessly worry of the Pestilence.” He moved past the curtain, letting it fall together to close Swan’s view of the horror that lay on the exam table, writhing in her unnatural existence.

Her mind raced as SCP-049 came toward her, his hands back to gloves. She tried not to show fear. Surely someone from The Foundation was watching and they’d see the SCP-049-2 that had been created. How long before anyone came to check on them though? SCP-049 was closing in on her, the salty tears on her cheeks stiffening the skin, her body exhausted from the heightened emotional response she’d gone through. She just wanted to go back to her room, away from all this madness.

“You are immune to all of this, and if only..” He began, his eyes turning red, the miasma unfurling in long tendrils from around the mask. His hand turned into claws once more as it reached out to take her. Swan shrunk back, away from his claw, covered in viscera and dried blood. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, only to feel the claw tenderly brush against her scalp, in what she supposed was a soothing gesture. “For hundreds of years, searching endlessly, coming so close, but always being denied..” His voice was distant now, and Swan went to look, but all she saw were his hands as they came for her.

A shrill scream echoed in the chamber as she was picked up like a small child, and placed seated on the table.

“Can you imagine my frustration? To know so closely all the information, to record it meticulously, but to be treated, how did you say, as a coward, as someone who is fucking insane?”

“I..” She tried to start, but with a powerful movement she was pushed so her back was flat on the table.

“Don’t move.” Was all he instructed. Her hands were balled into fists as she did her best to remain where she was. He placed his bag on the table next to her head. Out of her periphery she could see he was rummaging. A pair of scissors, the blades unusually long, the finger rings both small and circular. With a deft movement she felt her shirt being cut away. The blades opening and closing, the cold metal gently whispering against her skin. With his hand he parted the fabric exposing her chest. “Let me show you.” He used the scissors to cut the center gore of her bra, her breasts now much like those of the woman who was on the table.

“Please.” Swan tried to say, from behind quivering lips, but he paid her no mind.

“Your flesh is so tender and soft. No scarring. No signs of decay. Blessedly free of the disease which I find growing rampant and unchecked.” He used the pads of his fingers to move up her ribcage, over her breasts, then to her neck, and jawline. Laying his head on her chest, she felt the mixture of the heaviness of his mask, and the weight of his leather cloak. It should have been intimate and sweet, but it was preternatural, his presence and demeanor totally unpredictable. “I want your blood, Swan.” His eyes locked on hers. “I want your flesh and blood.”

Swan’s heart slammed to a brief halt in her chest and she fought to sit up, but all she did was thrash her head as he laid still on her.

“No!” She screamed now. A strange, strangled voice that echoed in his containment unit. He cocked his head to the side.

“Why?” His voice, quizzical.

“Don’t you understand consent? What you are doing is VIOLATING everything DOCTORS stand for! You ARE DOING HARM.” Her head was straining to keep itself up, but SCP-049 listened intently, raising his body so she could sit up.

“Medicine begins with blood.” He stood before her, putting his hands behind his back. “Do you not wish to find a cure? I would hate for you to stand between what is within our reach. You hold power in you, I can see it, smell it.” He leaned forward, the red fire of his eyes flickering upward. Swan covered her breasts with her hands as she sat up. Knowing better than to argue with him, she weighed her options.

“I am incredibly interested in your works,” Hesitancy laced her words, she did not know how she could say these things to him and come off as genuine or sincere, “and with you as well, but you terrify me..”

“Hm.” Was all he replied. “Is it, our forced interactions?” He asked point-blank. Swan’s face went red. “Would it be of any consolation, if I told you that those interactions would not have happened as they did, if we did not share a connection?”

Swan had to process what had just been said.

“It’s hard to talk to you, honestly, when I constantly fear.” She replied, looking at the floor. “I fear you, most of all, but this place, and even myself.”

SCP-049 closed the distance between them. He knelt down before her as he had before.

“I apologize, Dr. Swan, for all the harm I have caused you. Valdence gave me the records of the aftermath of our last forced interaction. It is why I am so vigilant about you taking your medicine.”

“..thanks.” Swan let the last batch of tears slid down her cheeks, and fall on the leather of his gloves.

From behind the curtain a wet thud disrupted the moment. Swan gasped and jerked back. SCP-049 stood up and walked over, pulling a syringe from his coat.

“Look away.” He spoke as he drove the needle into the eye of the creature struggling on the floor. The body went back to motionless. Swan used this moment he had moved away from her to bolt for the door. Slamming her keycard into the pad, the door opened as SCP-049 emerged from behind the curtain. The guards outside, grabbed Swan and pulled her back, slamming the door as they did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I forget that I can write this just for myself, instead of focusing on what others might want. 
> 
> Time to get back to first person Swan. And some sweetness and some desperation. Needy thing that she is. <3

“Why did you pull me out like that??” Swan dragged herself up from off the floor, where she had landed after her rough exit.

“There was one of those dash twos in there with you. Those things are dangerous.” The first guard explained as he held the gun in front of his chest.

“So it’s cool if I get raped repeatedly, but if a zombie shows up you guys freak out? Real skittish.” Her jaw was set in her mouth, eyes narrowed. Whatever calm the xanax had on her physical body had worn off and was replaced by the simmering annoyance at how she was being handled like an object rather than human-being. These idiots were no different than the SCP in the cell across from where she stood. Now she was angry at herself for believing there was any sort of distinction between the two parties. Both inept and callous, only in their own ways

“Maybe if you weren’t in there fraternitizing with that thing we wouldn’t have to keep yanking you around like that.” The second guard butted in.

“Fraternizing.” Swan corrected before storming off toward her own cell. The guards followed behind, as she stalked through the corridor. Stopping a ways before her own room, Swan tried hard to release some of the tension her body had stored. Her shoulders, jaw, and neck all like stone, but to no avail. It was all she could do to even recognize she was holding her muscles taught. Slamming her keycard into the pad as the guards finally caught up, all she could think of was a hot shower.

The door to her cell slid open, as most of the doors did, into the wall. Inside she caught sight of Agent G and Valdence. G was standing next to Valdence as she sat at her dingy table. Impeccable in some grey sweater, her red lips matching the red bottoms to her Louboutins. The manilla envelope Swan had left open had it’s contents scattered over top of the table. Swan sighed as she stepped in.

“Wasn’t expecting.. guests.” She let the word sound as cross as she felt, the door closed behind her and she sat down across from Valdence. “Yes?”

“I was told you have a proposal for us.” Valdence uncrossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, Agent G was behind her with his arms crossed, the standard expression of mild anger and disapproval set deep into his features. 

“You want to know what he is trying to cure?” Swan felt her chest become heavy, her eyelids drooping as she rubbed them. Her physical body was tired, and her mental state was wearing thin as well. 

Valdence narrowed her eyes, then let a smile curl over her lips. It was not beautiful, as it should have been, it was sinister and vile. Swan didn’t like the way it made her feel..like she had just eaten something her body knew would make her violently ill later. 

“You’re going to do that anyway, aren’t you?”

Valdence let the smile disappear as quickly as it had come. Swan was reminded of a snake. Her expressions moved the way a snake would strike. So quickly you barely knew it happened.

“I want a written contract that when this is over, I get to leave. I want it in writing. You want me dead? I already am. I’m as good as gone, the only thing left I have is my willingness to cooperate, and it’s dwindling quickly.” Swan laid it all out, a heavy sigh and her shoulders sagging at the end. “I know what you want from me, and I know this place well enough to know whatever word bond you give me is more than likely a lie.”

Agent G snorted. Valdence elbowed him in the gut, but he didn’t flinch. 

“I also have this.” Swan stood up, and walked toward the bathroom, “I know he cares for me, and I have something he wants. If I die, he will be heartbroken, and he will most likely not cooperate, at least not for a good long while. I don’t have to talk to him about this, I don’t have to force your hand, but I will if I don’t feel like I’m being worked with fairly.” Swan slammed the door, channeling all her angsty teenager rage, and slid down against the material the door was made of, until her butt hit the cold concrete floor.

The bathroom was little more than a prison cell, but it had a tub, for which she was grateful.

Outside Valdence stood up and shook her head, licking her lips and turning to face Agent G. Outstretching her hand to his face, she went to pull him in for a kiss, but instead raised her knee into his groin with all the force her pilates classes could give her, with the force of all the cheeseburgers and milkshakes she had denied herself in order to fit into her patent leather pants.

Agent G didn’t flinch as he side-stepped her move, gently grabbing her knee. Valdence didn’t know, but he’d been mercilessly trained in Krav Maga and he had to soften his response to her attack to keep her kneecap and nose in tact.

“You broadcast your intention like a neon sign in the night.” He growled in her ear as he grabbed her elbow and pulled her tightly to him, before letting go and watching her struggle to maintain her balance. Her perfect blonde hair mussed from the unpredictable movement.

\--  
‘So tired’, was all I could think as I mustered enough energy to stand up and walk over to the tub. I pulled the drain stop up and turned the hot water spigot all the way on. I let it fill as I sat on the narrow edge of the tub. I kept thinking, over and over, about this face. About the lines in the furrows of his mask, of those icy blue eyes. A sea without blue was just ice and waves. I reached without regard for if I was going to fall off the edge of the tub and onto the counter. The vials the medics had given me for the various injuries sat like saffron towers to the knocks she’d taken. One slid off to the concrete floor, rattling as it rolled away, the xanax. I opted for the muscle relaxer. The lid came off and I popped one in my mouth. Little round, off-white disc. It would take about an hour, but after that wait, I wouldn’t care. Using the rough sleeves of the jumpsuit to wipe the tears that had been forming, reminded me how much crying and how dry the air in here was. Coping mechanisms, I thought once more, as I stirred the blindingly hot water with my cold hand. The feeling of my cold hand in the hot water was always a pain all it’s own, and I wasn’t even sure I could call it pain. After several seconds my brain registered it as pain, but it felt unlike any other pain I had experienced. Pain was sharp, localized. This was just a soft tingle, a lingering static.

I was picturing how he would answer this question. He wouldn’t even answer it, and if he did it would be some lecture on humors or the innately distracting nature of my action. Total Hannibal Lecter shit.

Why was I thinking about him? She stared at her hand, as it had turned red from the heat of the water. It was the pain, I thought. The dull ache in my abdomen reminding me. He was in me, in my physiology. He was in her, forever seared into her nerve endings, into her subconscious. She had coded him as the archetype for pain and sex.

Disrobing was no problem, I wanted the clothing off. The stiffness of the fabric, the scratchy shifting against her skin like brillo. There was nothing soft or comforting about any of this place, and maybe it was beginning to wear on me. Caffeine, drugs, and fear. A revolving door of suffering.

I slid into the water, letting the surface tension of the water itself, creating a boundary I crossed using my skin as a way to measure it. Cold versus hot. It still stung, where I was healing. Between my legs, where I was perpetually raw. I wanted to touch it, to explore the wound that was healing, the stitches long since dissolved. It was phantom pains now, but still it ached. Instead, I let the water slip over my back and shoulders, climbing up around the mounds of my breasts, threatening to touch my nipples, but the tub was too shallow to swallow me the way I wished it would. The soft enveloping pressure and warmth of the water would have to suffice for now. 

It was the closest I would get to being held in a safe, comforting way. The thought of a hug, giving me that tightness in my throat. Letting my guard down, letting all the emotions I’ve been bottling up to make it through. Tears ran down my cheeks into the water. The water was hotter than my tears, but my tears were salty. The medicine was kicking in, and I was finally decompressing from the events. I knew more would come, so I let my tears fall into the bath water.

\--

“She thinks you care about her, Doctor.” Valdence’s voice was undulating as she spoke, Agent G was listening from behind his reflective shades. Her ire was being held at bay “She thinks it gives her some leverage here.” Valdence was standing outside SCP-049’s cell, talking to him through a comm. No reply, he was behind a curtain playing with a new corpse, there were faint squelching noises. The supply had been steady, one of the guards from earlier had been unfortunate enough to get caught in the grasp of the SCP. His uniform and weaponry folded neatly in a pile by the door. The last thing he had heard before he died was, ‘I do not fraternize.’ The Doctor had picked the guard up by the kevlar vest and that was when the idiot tried to grab the Doctor’s arm. In his panic, the guard had signed his own death warrant.

“She thinks that she can force the hand of The Foundation using you, because if she died, you would become distraught and sullen and step away from your cooperative dynamic that we’ve worked to create. How foolish of this silly little girl. To believe she’d been valuable enough to distract you from your one true mission.” Valdence was standing contrapposto as she spoke. She used her hands to talk, especially her fingers, running them through her blonde locks, fluffing as she went. 

“Hm.” Was the only reply she got. Valdence huffed. Agent G stepped forward and put an arm on her shoulder. He used his head to signal to turn off the comm.

“What?” She snapped, turning on her heel.

“You just blew Swan’s plan out of the water. From what you told him, he will think that she doesn’t care about him. Be patient.” His voice was calm. Valdence narrowed her eyes, but knew he was right. 

“Fine. Back to my office. I need to turn my brain off.” She stalked, her ass moving up and down as she clacked down the concrete hallway. Agent G chuckled in a mixture of amusement and excitement.

“Whatever you say, my Queen.” Agent G went to follow, but before he went he saw the SCP standing at the doorway. The eyes set deep in the mask staring at him.

“Agent. Is this true?” SCP-049 was addressing him directly, which was unnerving. However he was also being polite and had not given him any trouble, other than when he was under the influence, so G walked over.

Agent G thought for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat.

“She’s, in a tight spot.” Agent G replied.

“Aren’t we all?” SCP-049 replied as he disappeared back behind the curtain. 

\--

I stepped out, the water had cooled and I was just sitting in tepid water. I sat in it so long, so still, I couldn’t feel anything except the weightlessness of it.

Putting on the pants, the horribly scratchy fabric of the jumpsuit reminded me I was not in control of anything. I knew it was the drugs, I knew it was, but there was a tiny voice in me, telling me to go to him.

And you know what? I had spent way too much time living by someone else’s rules. By The Foundation’s rules, by the rules of Valdence, by the rules of the dossier. When would it be time for me to live by my own rules? Now. The time was now. I was staring in the mirror. I had bags under my eyes and I wasn’t even sure when the last time I had washed my hair was, but I didn’t care. I even put my left ring finger in my mouth and chewed the hangnail off. Nervous habit, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I grabbed my keycard off the bathroom floor, and without thinking I pressed it into the keypad, the door opening. There was only one guard at my door and he stood up straight as I blew past him.

“Hey wait up!” The male voice echoed as I darted off down the chamber. My feet were bare, and I was only wearing the thin undershirt and my jumpsuit over my legs. I didn’t care if he couldn’t keep up. I focused on the cold on my bare feet, the sound of the skin hitting the floor, and the turns I had to take to get to where I needed to be.

I found my way to SCP-049’s containment unit. Slamming the keycard into the keypad I felt my heart pounding as the door decompressed and managed to open. The hiss of the heavy door as it swung open, my eyes adjusting to the dark stillness in his containment unit. I felt it, I felt that tightness in my lower abdomen. The wanting. I wanted him. My body did, and I hadn’t realized it, but I had been in denial about it. The strange curiosity. I tried so hard to write it off as trauma bonding, but maybe I had been wrong. I didn’t die when he touched me. I survived his attack, his most powerful skill that we kept him at bay for, had NO effect on me.

“Swan.” His visage came out from the curtain. I didn’t even care that it was the guard from earlier on the table, his uniform and gun folded neatly near where I was. “There is no scheduled interaction.” He did not move from in front of the curtain. 

“I don’t know, Doctor, why am I here?” I tilted my head to the side. With a swift movement, I took off the shirt I had been wearing. My hair was still wet, dripping water down my shoulders and back. He did not reply, so I took off my pants and underwear. I did not fold them neatly, I used my foot to make a pile of them opposite the neat pile to my right. “You won’t kill me, will you?” My voice was giddy, and it was the sheer madness of the situation. I walked right for him. I knew the guard outside was watching. I had no idea if they’d called for anyone else, and there were obviously cameras everywhere. I walked straight up to SCP-049. I was less than a foot from him, and he looked down at me. It was just his mask, the brightness of the white, the iciness of the blue. I took my arms and wrapped them around him. I used my fingers to move under the weight of his arms, the gloves going up over his forearms. He was warm, soft, and I held tightly onto him, pressing my naked body into the weight of him, bowing my head into his chest. I didn’t hear a heart, but I was overcome by the tears. I balled my hands into fists, grabbing the fabric of his cloak. I stopped fighting the tears and I let them fall, all of them, all the hot salty tears of fear and sadness, of pain and hopelessness. I don’t know how long I held onto him as he stood there, so much taller than me, so much bigger than me. It felt, so one-sided, but I was so desperate for the touch, I couldn’t bear it. 

One arm came up, and with a kind gesture, he rested the palm of his hand on the back of my head. It should have felt awkward, stiff, uncomfortable, unnatural, but it was like someone had unleashed all the torment I had stored in myself. “Take me, hold me, do anything, but don’t leave me alone.” My voice was weak, muffled as I kept my cheek pressed into the leather of him. His other hand found its way to the place between my shoulderblades. It was incredibly tender, but I felt his body grow lax, and gently he used his fingers to rub my back. “Wrap me in the cloak, I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.” I begged him now, unsure if he would comply, but he did as I asked, as he had done before. 

The last thing I saw before the darkness was his hand raising, his cloak extending out to swallow me whole.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Damascus is closed for repair.  
> It's a short life, just a preview.
> 
> No honor among theives.   
> (There's time to be reflective.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Life happens.   
> This will be the second to last chapter.  
> Enjoy.

Agent G had come into her office, per her request. Her hair wrapped tightly around the back of her head in a chignon. The high angle of her cheek bones, flushed with her anticipation, dilated his pupils. Her long nails now red on the outside, and black underneath. He could smell her, even with her hair kept tightly, a mixture of charcoal with a floral undertone. Like a fire waiting to be lit, that smell that encapsulates and ensnares everything else, with that lingering floral afternote to remind the animal part of you she is feminine and not a hole in the earth.

“Take your hair down.” He barked at her, low and firm. She was tapping her nails along the keyboard, not even bothering to look at him. In a swift motion, one side of her hair fell. Agent G walked over, not caring she was more engaged in watching Swan on the monitor, typing some code into that monitor. He knew exactly why she bid him into her personal office. That doorway was an allegory. 

He was behind her, the length of him, growing painfully, aching from behind the zipper. He was now fully aware of his need for her. Not want, but need. Yanking her by the side of her hair that was still up, she did not yelp, but a brief smirk crossed her face. “On your knees.” He moved her by the hair, which he knew to grip by the roots. With every move of her body, she released wave after wave of her smell, that astringent aroma, infused with flowers. Lilacs. He could smell where she had been and could pick her out of a crowd of hundreds, blindfolded. It infuriated him how his body responded to her, but he used that anger to his advantage. Anger is a secondary emotion, and underneath his was a chasm of frustration. She wanted him, and he needed somewhere to channel his anger.

She looked like an angel, cherubic, and he mused briefly. ‘This must be what God thought as he fell Lucifer.’ 

Her flaxen hair loose on one side, pulled messily out on the other. Like a crime scene photo waiting to be finished. Her feet were skewed and her head looking up at him, reminding him of a crane. A weak and frightened animal, fragile because of her hollow bones. He wanted to break her elegant neck. “Undo your hair, like I said earlier.” He used the back of his hand to caress her jawline, before backhanding her lightly across the cheek. She mewled as she jerked back instinctively from the impact. He knew it didn’t hurt, rather that she was not used to such contact.

He had no trouble undoing his pants, not bothering to let them fall. He pulled himself out and let the semi-hard length hang in front of her face. She had positioned herself so she was sitting on her side. The weight of her on her left hip, knees bent, feet tucked in.

He wasn’t even looking at her. He just grabbed her hair and shoved her face into his crotch. Her lipstick was already smeared, tendrils of her hair over her face in haphazard chunks. She looked messy and she looked real. Not like some untouchable, unknowable feminine object. At his feet, he would make her as small and crushable as possible, and she would love every moment of it. 

Digging the pads of his fingers deeply into the coils of her hair, he grabbed her, and held her against him as she took him into her mouth. Her breathing was strictly through her nose now, and he knew it would be sloppy work for her, but he would relish her struggle. It was his and his alone.

\---

It was dark, all around me. I opened my eyes, but I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I felt nothing. It was warm, ambiently warm, and I could feel it all around me. Panic tried to swallow me, but I felt no fear. It was an instinctual response, a deep red bell, but something in my consciousness told me I had nothing to fear here. 

This is where he brought me, this is within himself, am I experiencing this? Is this real?

This dark was known to me. From within his voice came, behind the eerie ringing of silence and calm. Was it gloom, or was it an absence of light? I didn’t care because I had nothing to fear here. Fear was not known, worry and terror were absent, there was only the nothingness. 

“Come.” His voice did not pierce the resonant placidity, still it hummed. It was very much a part of him and he of it. I felt him moving closer to me. I can’t fully describe how I knew it was him, but I felt it. The way you feel the sand beneath you, and in your hand when you dig into it. Each grain that makes the sand, you do not feel them individually, but collectively.

I pushed myself up. I had done this on a morning after a deep, restful slumber. I had done this waking to the plush of my blankets. It was well warmed and tucked all around me. My night of sleeping. I felt safe and familiar here. I knew this feeling, languid and contentment.

“You are mine.” His voice was inside of me, the same way my blood was. I felt him, the same way I felt my own self. I was simultaneously more aware of it, and it was as if it had always been that way. “Open your mouth.” 

I felt his warm, leather fingers pressed together, the pointer and middle, cross my lips. They were pressing on my tongue, and filling me. I felt him grab onto me, onto my scalp and hold me in place by cradling the back of my head while separating his fingers and exploring the wetness of my mouth, the pads of his fingers moving over my molars. My hands instinctively braced myself against whatever was keeping me grounded, splayed out for stability as he pressed himself into my mouth.

I moaned softly. His fingers were thick and full and I couldn’t see him, but I felt him inside of me, and inside of my mouth. I wanted so badly to see him. I grabbed onto his arm, one hand on the sleeve, another on the crook of his elbow, beckoning him farther down into me.

With no warning he withdrew his fingers and I felt the saliva drip down my chin. “Untainted.” He was still cradling my head with his other hand. 

“Open your eyes.” My entire body tensed with his command. I felt the smallest hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my skin covered in goosebumps, nipples harden. My hair fell back as I looked up at him. That glow from behind the mask was more prominent than ever, that same icy blue snaking around like tendrils. I wanted so badly to keep looking, but after a few seconds I turned my cheek into his palm, tears streaking my cheeks.

Can’t..

He knelt before me, and I felt so small compared to him. A penumbra to him, a lesser density, a diluted version of whatever he was. I felt him stand, his hand sliding out from behind me. The loss of contact was almost unbearable, but something tingled. A charge? Electricity? I knew these feelings and it was maddening not to have names for them, but it felt like holding your breath, like before lightning struck. I let the few tears fall down my cheeks as I sat in my own misery, the wetness between my legs breached and slid down my thigh like a tear. Why did I have such profound reactions to him?

“I know all of you.” His voice was in my ears, it was in my mind, I heard it in my dreams. 

With as little warning as before, I felt every part of me filled. My mouth was being kissed, my fingers were entwined with his, I was being penetrated to my fullest. I could barely stand it. I couldn’t protest, I couldn’t hold onto anything. He was all around me, everywhere.

“Mine.”  
\---

Sweat glistened on Valdence’s decolletage and over the delicate slope of her nose, gathered in her hairline weighing down the small wisps. Her waterproof mascara and eyeliner unsmudged, but shadowed her eyelids lending her a smokey quality, softening her harsher lines. Her red lipstick long gone from her puffy and bruised lips.

In the sickening pale light of the monitors, the two of them sat still, breathing heavily. Moments ago they had been coupled. She had her favorite position and it was called The Glowing Juniper. She liked being sprawled out between his legs, breasts languid, nipples piqued.

Glancing over at G slouched in one of her guest chairs, she let a brief smirk cross her lips. His expression, relaxed as he held a glass loosely in one hand, was distant. His elbows were draped over the arms of the chair as he sat in what she thought of as a rather relaxed posture. He was deep in thought. She knew she was growing attached to him, all that skin on skin contact was flooding her with oxytocin. Ironically, the more she used him to distract herself, the closer they became. 

As she sat, she pulled up the feed for Containment Unit 049. Tracking Swan was no chore. She had clearance to the entire facility, but she isolated herself between her own unit and SCP-049’s. 

There were several monitors showing different angles of the room. Inside was the exam table with the curtain open. From four different angles she could see SCP-049 and Swan. Her body, naked and pressed up against SCP-049's black coat, knuckles white from the pressure she exerted. 

Valdence flashed back to Agent G picking her up and holding her so that her torso was flush with his, and how the position forced him deeper inside of her and how she also grabbed onto his back the way Swan was holding SCP-049.

That was a new development, but didn’t surprise Valdence. Swan and SCP-049 had bonded, even if it was just over the traumatic encounters with each other. The physical, colliding of the sexual and vulnerable. A forced coercion of intimacy. Valdence looked over at G, one of her long fingernails tugging on her lip. His form was chiseled and fine tuned, nothing about him was out of place. Not his grey hair or the stern look as he caught her staring. 

“What?” she purred as he stood up, his naked body backlit by the low lighting of the office. She loved how his obliques defined almost painfully, down into his iliac furrow. He was swollen from the exertion, and she felt the pulse between her legs, and how she would ache for days.

The last thing Agent G had seen was Swan with SCP-049, and then Swan was gone. SCPs blinked in and out of existence, throughout differing spectrums of light and sound, and all of that was meticulously recorded. SCP-049 was not Houdini, her disappearance was not an illusion, or misdirection. Swan was no longer on the grounds. Typing commands into Valdence’s terminal he swept The Foundation for Swan’s GPS implant.

TERMINAL 0023 CASTLEOFHEARTS  
USERNAME AGENT G  
INITIATE SEARCH PROTOCOL? Y/N?  
Y.   
INPUT USER SEARCH COMMAND.  
LOCATE AK-47890086  
USERNOTFOUND.

“Swan.” Agent G was adjusting his holsters as Valdence was still lost in her sexual euphoria. Running her nails through her hair. “Let’s go.” Agent G barked at her, pressing the importance of the situation at hand.

Valdence was naked, but she bit her bottom lip. Her hips swayed, breasts shadowed in the darkness as she walked over to G. 

“Bad dog. You know better than to bark when you’re in my office.” She reached up on her tiptoes and dragged her nails across his cheek. “Heel.”

Valdence watched the monitor as two guards rushed into the cell. They quickly put the metal collar on SCP-049. Keeping their distance, though he did not resist nor show any struggle. He had already left the room as she bent down for her panties.

She made a face, rolling her eyes as she watched him stalk down the hallway on her monitors.

\---

Agent G was now standing next to Valdence, his expression hidden behind his reflective sunglasses. Most Agents wore masks, full gear, but G just used his sunglasses. Sometimes that lack of expression on a face made for expression was its own mask. Arms crossed, facing the threshold to the containment unit. Inside there were two other guards holding SCP-049 at length with the Class III Humanoid Restraint Harness.

"Where are you hiding Swan?" 

The SCP said nothing, only staring with his icy blue eyes. 

“Swan is no longer locatable on Foundation grounds.” G continued as Valdence tapped her nails on her clipboard. 

SCP-049 continued to stare in silence. Agent G stalked up to him, pulling a gun from his shoulder holster. The MP5 had a long magazine along with a short and bulky muzzle. With a seamless motion, the safety was removed, the barrel staring down SCP-049. “You are flesh and blood under that leather, doc, and leather doesn’t stop bullets.” G placed his finger over the trigger. “See, Valdence and her lackeys will play nice with you, but I won’t.” The barrel to the gun was inches away from SCP-049’s mask.

“Cygne est caché à l'intérieur.” The words uttered in a low voice, all while maintaining eye contact with Agent G. Hands folded neatly behind SCP-049’s back. 

“King’s English.” G closed the gap, moving closer to SCP-049. Valdence turned and smirked at Agent G, but he was intent on the SCP in front of him. “You have three seconds to comply--”

“Christ.” Valdence sighed as she leaned over to one of the auxiliary guards. “Bring me the tablet.” G turned so quick, Valdence didn’t have time to realize G was coming toward her.

“STAY out of this.” His teeth didn’t part, his lip raised in a snarl, his sunglasses lowering to show her his eyes, pupils tighter than pinpricks. The muzzle had gone lax as he had turned, but SCP-049 remained unperturbed. 

049 noted that despite their consummation, they did not work as a team. Such a short-sighted error. 

“Écoute-la.” SCP-049’s voice was quiet, a whisper. It was lost as the two bickered in the threshold. Agent G turned back to the SCP and tightened the line of sight against the euclid in front of him.   
\---

I didn’t know if I could focus, except on what I was feeling. Supple leather all around me, between my fingers, on the insides of my thighs, pressed against my pubic bone, pressure on my ribcage as I was rocked back and forth, the sensations maddening as they came over me like breaths of air. Fullness, then a retreat. Tension oscillated through my entire body, rippling over my skin in goosebumps.

His fingers were pliant, over my shoulder blades, moving my body like it was insubstantial, but with a care that showed I was anything but. I didn’t dare open my eyes, the sensation brought me to life with it’s ebb and flow. 

I wanted to grab onto him, onto his limbs, his torso. I ran my fingers over the creases and folds of him. I found his structure and moved myself into it, pressing with my strength to fill myself fuller. Tandem motion. As he pulled away, I rested, and as he pulsed into, I tensed and moved into him. 

Harmony, unspoked and aligned. I reached up as I felt the curve of his mask marking the crook of my shoulder. 

“I’m going to--” My words were jagged and raw, breathy. Without hesitation, I felt all of him slamming deep into me. That pressure that had been building, coiled between my legs lit me on fire. Two fingers thrust themselves into my mouth, the thickness and weight on my tongue. My eyes flew open and before me I saw him without his mask. I screamed as he relentlessly pressed into me, my body too close to climax to stop. Tears of ecstasy and terror streaked down my cheek and neck as the ragged sound escaped my throat.

The red miasma had turned black and heavy, a viscous liquid pouring down over the features of what would have been his face. My eyes were closed, but I felt the heaviness of the liquid dripping on my naked body. On my stomach, on my breasts, on my neck. I had my nails pressed so deeply into the leather of him that I felt his musculature tensing as well as my nail beds pressing into me. 

“Look at me,” his voice was low, and I opened my eyes as he removed his fingers from my mouth, pulling a strand of saliva with it, “choose wisely.” Was the last of what registered from him. Whatever had filled me, removed itself, but cradled me gently, leaving me mobile and supported. I tried to stand, but there was nothing to stand on. 

His face was just blackness oozing out, some still connected to the mask, some still covering his face, some falling onto my body. I didn’t sense any hostility, any danger. It felt more like a blanket covering me, like lying down in a bath. I reached out to his face, and as I did that was when I saw it. Bleached. A small square of skull revealed, with his eye. That piercing blue, staring at me, untouched by the black liquid.

“Choose?” I finally formed the word, in an exhale as my coherence became more focused. His gaze never left mine. In his other hand, was his mask, partially covered by the liquid, but he took it and broke it in half, then each half into quarters. Forming a line in front of me, each became its own unique mask, including one identical to his.

“It is important, which you choose, you will become.” His hand waved over each mask. The silvery white metal or porcelain, a complete replica of his own, the long curved beak with the deep set black eyes and the tell-tale blue glow. I saw his hood, the cloak. Leather.

The second was all black leather, seamless, the beak the most dominating feature, the eyes more like goggles, with red lenses. A cape with a high collar and a cane topped with silver, a scythe blade.

The third was some sort of an oversized bird skull with depthless eye sockets and a lower portion of the jaw that seemed to be able to move. Underneath the eyes were a stain, a black stain. White gloves that went up past the elbow, into the cloak. A flat, wide-brimmed hat. 

The last was a white mask, the beak encompassed the entirety of the shape. The curve was soft and delicate, the length shorter than the others with huge smoke-colored lenses. With this one came a white hair coif and white cape as well. 

I felt totally overwhelmed, having just been drawn into all of this.

“They are going to kill you, Swan.” His words were not heavy, spoken casually, but he punctuated my name with the S. He caressed my face as I closed my eyes and turned away, using the pad of his thumb to trace my jawline and over my bottom lip. More tears broke free and down my cheeks. “Too much time has passed since I have had an ally, let alone one that was untainted, untouched.” 

While he spoke, the black liquid had completely encompassed me and he was using his glove to gently massage it into the more sensitive parts of my body. My scalp, my lips, under the arms, over the breasts, over the belly, between my legs. His leathered hands, extending into semi-claws to get deeper into me. Fluid Bonding. I wanted to close my legs, and I felt my knees move inward instinctually, a fear ripping through me. He growled and stiffened his elbow and, using his free hand, prying my other knee apart. “Do not fight me.” He dug deeper into me and I felt the fluid dripping down, pooling under me, and I felt him massaging my cervix with his claw. I couldn’t suppress the moan any longer. “You are MINE.” That last word, and I howled as I felt him pierce the skin of my knee with a claw. “Your choice must be made before your return, I cannot keep you much longer.”


End file.
